


War of Conquest

by madeleinegrey



Series: The Conquest [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 7 kingdoms, Aegon I Targaryen - Freeform, Aegon's Conquest, Balerion - Freeform, Blood Magic, Dorne, Dragons, Dragonstone, F/F, F/M, House Baratheon, House Lannister, House Stark, House Targaryen, House Velaryon, Incest, Iron Throne - Freeform, King's Landing, M/M, Meraxes, Multi, Murder, Orys Baratheon - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red Keep, Rhaenys Targaryen - Freeform, Sibling Incest, Valyria, Valyrian, Vhagar - Freeform, Violence, Westeros, battles, harrenhall, visenya targaryen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 38,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeleinegrey/pseuds/madeleinegrey
Summary: Before, the Game of Thrones, the seven kingdoms saw the rise of Westeros as a united country, all seven kingdoms forged into one great kingdom under the greatest dynasty.The story revolves around Aegon and his two sister queens; their conquest and their demise. Were the tales of conquest true to what had been chronicled? Were they the exactly themselves as the bards sang in their songs?PS- I know GRRM does not approve of fanfiction but since he is busy procrastinating, I decided to entertain myself and you guys.





	1. Visenya

The bells tolled in the Sept, echoing through the narrow, stone passages. It chanted in sync with the heavy beats of Visenya's heart. Stop it, she chastised herself. This is wedding, not battle. Although Visenya would choose battle without second thoughts than ending up in this disagreeable marriage. But it is better to have reins in one hand than lose in both.

A sharp knock on her door snapped her musings. She turned to face the handmaiden. Pretty little thing, she is. Short, redhead, petite. Frightened and attentive as if Visenya might take her head for slightest mark on her robes. 

"It's time, my lady." As if the bells haven't told her that yet. "They are ready for you."

"Fetch my cloak." She ordered and checked herself in the mirror. It's too dark to make out her features distinctly. Her white robe fitted perfectly on her blooming figure. Two pins of dragon heads attached to either side of her shoulder, holding the robe in place. She missed her bracelet on wrists, it made her feel more naked and vulnerable. A Valyrian steel circlet, bejeweled with rubies adorned her head. A single dragon head molded in gold hung around her neck. It had hung around her mother's, now with her. She wondered if her mother will make another for her sister.

The handmaiden returned with her cloak, red upon black. She threw it around her neck and fastened it to the robe. Visenya winced at the tug. "Careful, girl."

"Pardon me, my lady." Her voice shook. So did others. The servants are more polite and formal to her than rest their family.

Visenya knew people were less warm to her than her siblings. Unlike Rhaenys's beguiling smile, her smile never inspires affections in people heart; not that many people have heart anyway. She was not charismatic like her brother who won over small-folks and lords alike with his charm. "You have heart of Valyrian steel, lass. As cold and strong and magical." Her father had said to her. She was one and ten then, already mastered swords, lances and archery, trained with her younger brother each morrow till sun down. Aegon was strong and natural swordsman, Visenya was quick as shadow flickering on the walls and skilled. No man other than her brother, can boast of disarming her in duel. Her brother. Her brother whom she is marrying.

Out of the three siblings, their father, Aerion Targaryen favored Visenya most. She was his first trueborn child, even with birth of Aegon, his only trueborn son, the Lord of Dragonstone continued to favor her. In his indulgence, Visenya learned to wield swords, he was the one who gifted her Valyrian steel sword. It was light and made to be carried easily by a woman. "Dark Sister" she had named it.

As they grew up, all of the Targaryen children became educated under maesters about governance and knowledge of the world. A rivalry grew between Visenya and Aegon as to who will succeed their father. Their mother, Lady Valaena was of opinion that the seed was planted long before when her Lord husband approved of Visenya's bearing and encouraged her to take part in his ruling.

Over time, however, the favor shifted in favor of Aegon. Lord Aerion's health was failing; everyone, nobles and her family alike, deemed Aegon as the next heir.

"I am your eldest trueborn child, Father." She had reminded when the question of succession came up. "I am as much qualified to rule as is Aegon, if not superior."

His father had simply nodded and Visenya knew that she was alone in this. Her brother had supporters: their little sister, Rhaenys; their mother; the Velaryons; the Celtigars and the common folk. She had support only of Kerwin Celtigar, who, Visenya suspected had wanted to marry into greater houses as his brother Crispian Celtigar is to inherit the Claw Isles. Orys, Aegon's childhood companion and his most trusted friend, didn't choose either of them.

"Your feud between yourselves will bring doom for House Targaryen. You can not rule if you fight among yourselves." He said to them. "Both of you want to rule and both you have equal claim. But one of you must choose to step down."

Both of them were adamant in their resolve so at last, their father sat down with his council and decreed that Aegon has to marry Visenya. She is the eldest daughter, of course. Aegon is bound by duty as the laws of hierarchy dictated. Only, Aegon didn't desire Visenya. He had eyes for only one girl, Rhaenys. From infancy, they had been intimate. Though Rhaenys was a flirt and fooled around with lads of all status, she loved Aegon with all her heart. They had often fancied being married and Visenya was witness to their games.

It was decided that Aegon should be the one to convey the tidings.

"No need to bother with small talks, dear brother. Get to it." She was harsh to him when her maid let him in.

"As you wish, sweet sister." He had conceded. "The council has come to a decision to settle the matter of succession. And I have agreed with their proposition."

Visenya had sneered, crossing her arms and turning away. "Sure you have. Let's hear what those white bearded cunts have to say."

Aegon brushed off her mockery and strode to her. "They are of mind that I should marry you as is my duty and obligation."

"No." She had said firmly. That is how they meant to trap her. Well, she is not taking the bait.

"Hear me out sister. And you can answer when you know everything. Look at me." He instructed, drawing her close and turning her to face him. His lilac eyes meet her purples, the mark of true Valyrian. "You are thinking to small, sweet sister."

"I am not!" She had retorted. "I want to expand our territory. Take back what was ours. We do not belong here. We are Valyrians, we don't belong among these Westeroris."

"Valyria is dead sweet sister. We accomplish nothing by fighting for lost civilization and ruined forts." He dropped his voice to bare whisper. "We should be looking west. Valyria is ashes but Westeros is young and green. We can build an empire. Our House was nothing in Valyria but now it will be when it becomes the greatest dynasty. Why stop at Lord when you can be a king?" His words made no sense to her. Westeros was nothing to her.

"You are awfully sure about that."

"With you on my side, we can attain everything." He had looked so lively, it was the same when he was given Balerion; his eyes shone with zeal and wild thrill rushing through his veins, affecting her with them.

"Does Rhaenys know?"

Aegon slowed down, evening his expression, he nodded. "Does she approve?" It's highly unlikely Rhaenys would accept this union. Aegon's face said it all. "There is a condition."

Of course there is. Rhaenys always got her way.

"I desire to marry Rhaenys." Before she could talk, Aegon shut her up with his hand. "I have talked to the septon and maester. It is possible to take more than one wife."

Visenya's blood boiled. "So that's it? Am I to be your wife, attending and entertaining your husbandly wishes?"

"You won't be my wife. You will be my queen. Rhaenys doesn't care, she will be happy being my wife. But you can rule beside me. We can do this together. Do you consent?"

Visenya had asked for two days to reflect on it. On third day, she had given her consent.

Thunder rumbled outside, it was raining. It was always raining in Dragonstone, they hardly ever saw sunlight. Nothing grew on this island either; they lived from trade with Braavos and the Reach, Dorne and other Westerosi lands. The high walls surrounded the island and within the enclosure rose the tall, gloomy fortress, with angular towers and casting daunting shadow. The few lots of fish rearers that lived on the desolate isle scattered outside the fortress and few more living outside the walls. A small godswood of three of four hollow trees, beside it was a small Sept. The Andals who dwelled on this isle prayed to their seven gods and House Targaryen had adopted theirs.

She was joined by her father on the main gate. He led her down the stone stairs of the narrow passage to the Sept. Through the symphony of drizzles, she heard the strain of the harp overlaid with chatter of invitees and witnesses. Her brother was waiting on the alter. Behind him, candles illuminated the tall figures of the Seven Gods. Her brother wore black robes with dragon motifs, the symbol of their house. By his side, mother and sister are smiling. Forced she knew, no one wanted this marriage. It was the unwanted peace settlement. Her steps faltered as she drew nearer. She prayed her father had gripped her strong, lest she should fall.

The band played in one corner of the dais; clangs of cymbals and tune of harp and lute mingled with blare of trumpet echoed off the stone walls. The air was saturated with rich smell of spicy meat and wine. Thunder cracked across the heavy sky, pouring rain mercilessly; the sea roared violently threatening to drown all ships and ports.

Visenya sat on the high table in the throne room of Dragonstone surrounded by loud drunk people and whining children.

On her right sat here Lord husband, smiling and nodding courteously to well wishers and nobles. They had spoken few words after exchange of their vows and Visenya had no inclination to speak. The smoked lamb with lemon, remained untouched although the goblet of had to be filled thrice.

People danced in couples before them, their fat and lazy bodies swaying with the beat of drums. Visenya just danced once the traditional dance with her husband. She paired with her father for another round. After that, she had retired to her seat, refusing all invitations. Aegon too, retired beside her after few more turns. Even if Rhaenys is upset about this ordeal, she is performing a great task in masking her feelings, the poor girl had never been the one to hide her emotions. She had congratulated them and had joined them at the feast.

Visenya didn't bother to talk to her. There is nothing to say; she wouldn't share her lover if she ventured in her place. She may find peace in Aegon's promise, that he would spend then nights with her for each night he is with Visenya.

Her father stood up on her left, the table trembled as he grabbed it's edges to support him. He struck his goblet twice to attract everyone's attention. "It is time for bedding!" He declared.

Clatter of plates and bangs goblet greeted the news. The hall bellowed with cheers and Visenya is pulled to her feet by couple of eager hands.

She felt herself drifting through waves of men, young lords and squires. Someone in the crowd seized her cloak and tore it off her neck. She clutched her breast tightly so that no one could tug off her robes. She had insisted on cutting out the public humiliation of bedding, and she had prevailed in her point. They were not to be stripped off their clothes as was custom, before entering their bedchamber.

Visenya went in first. The chamber glowed with the flickering flames of candles. There were chests of trunks beside the majestic bed that occupied the center of the chamber. She proceeded to open the glass window to clear the air, the smell of incense gave her headaches. The cool air and spray of rain soaked her robes. The salty smell was far more welcome than the fragrance of flower and lamps.

The door behind her open and close with a low thud as Argon came in. Visenya turned around to look at his brother. He was wearing a gauzy linen shirt and trouser under his undone robe. She walked over to the bed, _their bed_ ; her heart pounded in her ribs. She hadn't felt this afraid since the last time the last time she was hanging off the balcony of north tower, afraid to let go and drop to the hard ground below her.

She didn't climb on the bed, let Aegon make the first move, she is not initiating this. She heard his footsteps rapping around the room, near the window and finally stopping behind her. Her body was twitching with anticipation. The fear was not because of her maidenhood, she had lost it years ago when she learned to ride and there is no need of pretending of being virgin. The terror of submitting her will to his younger brother, to stoop down beside him paralyzed her.

Her skin tingled as Aegon laid his fingertips on her shoulder and Visenya, for the first time, prayed to the Seven for this to be over as quickly as possible; she felt tears forming in the corner of her eye. Breathing heavily, she cocked her neck, allowing him better access. Aegon ran up his fingertips lightly on her skin, his left hand gripped her shoulder and drew out the pin; the robes hung loosely on her frame. He brushed away her hair and pressed a gentle kiss one her neck making her shudder at the abrupt contact.

Her hands were flaccid by her side. Her legs felt numb and unable to support her weight. She may fall any moment and therefore leaned back to her brother. That was invitation enough. He lifted his head and plucked out the remaining pin and the shoulders of her robes dropped and it clung to her body with sash. Gathering her leftover spirit, she unfastened the sash and pushed them down: she was left standing in her small clothes. Aegon's fingers traveled to her waist and pulled out the twines of her corset and with one smooth tug he rips it off her. The rest of her small clothes, he pulled down, kneeling.

Visenya wished she hadn't opened the window in first place. Sharp cold winds came howling through opening making her body even more numb. Her thoughts were in twists of smokes. Scattered and incoherent. On her rear, she could hear the shuffle of Aegon's clothes as he took them off. She couldn't look back and face him.

His palms pressing on her back, urging her to lean down. With slight reluctance, she climbed on the bed and bent down so that she was kneeling on her hands and knees. The bed squeaked as her brother climbed aboard, sheets shifted under his weight. Placing on hand on her on her hips, he rubbed her clit. Visenya had to bite her lips to rein in her groan. The worry about future didn't relax her and get wet under Aegon's touch. He has to slick her cunt before mounting her.

Visenya clutched the sheets tightly as her brother's index finger slithered into her, massaging her walls and despite her worries, she was starting to get wet. The stroke of his movement was aroused the fire in her. Close your eyes, she told herself, pretend it's Deryn. But his hands were rougher and thicker than Aegon's whose skin was soft and velvety; also his movements are very much different than her brother's. He slid in another finger, stretching her walls, her body clenched around his fingers. The strokes quickened with passing moments and when he decided she was moist enough, he pulled out his and positioned the tip of his cock in the mouth of her cunt.

Slowly, he eased into her, splitting her apart. Her lips bled from the bite; she dropped her head to the bed as the pain intensified. She wouldn't scream, she wouldn't let him hear her cry. But tears are already sliding down her cheek, it was good that Aegon is taking her from behind. He slid halfway and pause, then retreated slowly, giving her time to adjust. Just do it, she wanted to scream. Finish her and leave.

He drove in again, pushing all the way. A sob escaped her as his thick shaft impaled her and started moving, bouncing in and out of her. Tension built up inside her and she panted, breathless from his onslaught. Pretend it's Deryn. But it is folly to mistake his little brother riding her for Deryn wouldn't handle her that way. She was thankful to the thunder; it's loud cracks drowned her sobs and whimper as his brother rode her harder and faster, grunting. He too, probably is pretending to fuck Rhaenys. Is that what he did with her behind the closed door, she wondered. She couldn't imagine her sister's willowy figure sustaining such anguish.

Visenya thrashed under him but his grip was too tight. "Don't" she protested but he didn't appeared to have heard her. She could feel her climax nearing and braced herself for the impact. Her climax hit her like tidal wave and she drifted in the sensations buzzing through her. Her body quivered and and sunk to the bed; she panted for breath as her body shook violently. Few thrusts later, Aegon reached his peak and came in her passage, soaking her inside with his seeds. He slouched over his sister and quaked, moaning in a soft groan. When he had emptied himself, he pulled out of her; the loss of his cock made his cum ooze out of her. Breathing with strain, her brother-husband dropped to the bed and rolled to his side.

Visenya waited for the pain to subside, the throb was almost too agonizing. Her limbs were too weak to move and she laid there, legs dangling from the bed. She couldn't sleep till the hour of the wolf when the rain has ceased and dark sky fading into the eastern sky.

 


	2. Aegon

The Sunset Sea was vast, stretching beyond the horizon. Endless ripples generated by their vessel danced all the way where the sky met the ocean. No one knows what lies south of the Sunset Sea. Those who had dared to venture in the uncertain water had never returned to narrate their tales. The Ironborns believe it to be their 'heaven' where the 'drowned god' promised eternal freedom.

They had been sailing for thirteen days and nights. They had left Dragonstone with thirty three men and households aboard 'the Harbinger'. It was a small ship, designed for minimal crew and long journey. Their captain was an old Tyroshi with weather beaten face and green beard; the rest of the crew are few Myrmen, couple of Pentoshi merchants and an Andal bard from Rosby. They sailed all hours stopping only to pick up necessary supplies at Tarth, Tyrosh and their last stoppage two days ago, Salt Shore.

While Aegon had gone to discover the ports and the residents, his sister-wife had remained in her cabin. Visenya couldn't abide by the noises and chatters of foreign tongues and equally foreign foods. So Aegon had gone alone accompanied by the captain of his household guards, Jallen, a strong lad of one and twenty who had succeeded Stefon after his death.

Salt Shore was crowded for a small port. Ships stopped here to refill their supplies before they sail for Oldtown and beyond. Merchants and lowly fishermen marched about in their work. There is a market nearby where they stock decent Dornish wine. Ruled by House Gargalen, it was mostly a village of few fishermen and small folks. There is not much farming in these lands, they rely on trade mostly. It was three leagues from the nearest town called Vaith. Would his sister allow, he could pay them a visit.

Sellers of all commodities called out to them as they navigated through the bustling crowd. He had let his men to visit a brothel after a hard journey on the sea and only Jallen remained by his side. They found him in the corner of a shabby tavern. He was huddled in the mud, a dirty rag wrapped around his naked body; his skin was crinkled and flaked. Patch of blood was dried among his hairs above his right ear. If he didn't tremble, any one would have thought he was dead already.

Aegon knelt down beside him and touched his shaggy bearded cheek. His touch inspired some life in him and he slowly raised his head; a set of unfocused grey eyes met with Aegon's own. His dried, chaffed lips quivered but no sound escaped from those.

Aegon gestured Jallen to hand him his skin of wine. Popping off the lid, he held it to his lips. The man didn't move as if he wasn't aware of it. Aegon placed his hand on the back of his head and urged him forward. Stream of wine leaked as it was poured into his mouth and he gulped noisily. 

" _Iedar_ " He croaked in wheezy voice and Aegon sent his attendant to fetch some water.

"Where are you from?" He asked in Valyrian. The man gained some spirit from hearing his tongue. He shook his head tiredly and waved in the air. "They have taken everything. Home, my family. I have nothing. Nothing." He coughed and fell into silence.

Jallen returned with a cup of water and pressed it to his lips. When he had chugged the volume, he began, "My name is Sallenhor. I forge armor, in Volantis. They, the Tyroshi fleet, they attacked us. Burned our houses and quarters. Shops and stores. Even the Black Wall couldn't stop them. My Dilesea, my poor sweet girl. They raped her while I watched before dragging her away, my wife too. I couldn't do anything." He broke off with a violent sob.

"The Volantene conquest" Jallen remarked sullenly. Aegon had been aware of it. Volantenes had claimed all the cities of the extinct Valyrian empire and had aggressively tried tried to take over Myr and Lys. However, when the Pentoshi and Tyroshi joined them against Volantis, the unrest waged on costing lives and resources on both sides.

"The Lord knows how I have sinned and he'd kept me alive to watch them suffer."

_____

"You are troubled" Visenya remarked without looking up from her book. It always vexed Aegon how she seemed to know everything that went on without actively observing.

He pulled the armrest by the cabin window and faced his sister. She had heavy book on her lap, it's careworn leaves were coming off. She turned another page idly and raised her head slightly, looking at him with query.

"I have to reply to the Pentoshis when we get back." He said. Visenya lowered the book to her lap and crossed her arms.

"Why the sudden change of heart, dear brother?" There was slight sneer in her tone but Aegon chose to overlook it as he had done always done.

He paused a while to think this through. He had resolved to stay away from the disagreement in the west and had ignored pleas from both side to intervene. Both his sister who were generally world apart in other decisions urged him to answer them. While Rhaenys's intention was out of her heart, Aegon had suspected Visenya's intention of being purely a political one.

Over the century after Doom of Valyria, the remaining cities of the Valyrian empire clashed to achieve total control of the extinct dynasty. Volantis, the most powerful of them all declared them to be the successor state and to assert their power, they had launched campaign of take over on Lys, Myr and the southern reaches of the Rhoyne. When the Volantenes had extended their territory to Tyrosh, the Archon had sent for help to the free city of Bravos and the Lords of Dragonstone.

Unnerved by the Volantene hostility, Braavos dispatched their fleet to join with Pentosh with the aim of combating them. Aerys Targaryen, the then Lord of Dragonstone, refrained from involvement citing his own struggle for reestablishing House Targaryen.

While century passed, conflict still ravaged western Essos, hampering lives and trades in both continent. As their cities fell, Dragonstone's trade dwindled yet Aegon held back, firm on his resolution.

"They had been fighting for ages." He remarked. "This cannot go unaddressed."

Life stirred in Visenya's cold eyes and she sat up straight, letting the book fall off her lap. "When do we leave?"

She had been complaining days and night as less and less ships came back to their port from Essos. She was no fool. Even if Aegon's plan fail, they's would still considerable wealth to maintain whatever they had left. Whispers floated in the air that their cousin, the impish Lucaerys had been instigating Visenya to take up arms if her brother would not. And knowing Visenya, the slightest spark would light her like wildfire.

" _I_  will be leaving." He corrected. Visenya's face darkened. Along with her fire, all warmth seemed to desert the room. Lips pressed tight, she observed her brother before asking his reasons. 

"I need you to stay in Dragonstone. Rule while I deal with Volantis."

"Rhaenys can rule Dragonstone." Her voice shook with wrath. "Beside, you alone are not enough to take them."

Truth was, Aegon didn't want Visenya by his side, especially in Essos. Even after three years of marriage Aegon still hadn't succeeded convincing Visenya. Taking her with him will only disrupt his plans.

"Rhaenys is not half as capable as you in ruling." He said but Visenya just scoffed.

"Flattering will get you nowhere, dear brother. You need me."

"Yes" He agreed, "In Dragonstone. We have to stick with what we planned, Visenya."

"You have planning for the entire summer and we haven't even prepared anything. So tell me, Aegon, how are we to conquer this dreamland of yours if you abandon us for some suicide mission in the East?"

"Why do you think we are going to Oldtown?" He countered. Visenya backed down to ponder allowing him to carry on. "We need to understand the land before we start our campaign. Therefore, I need you to do this so when I get back we will be prepared."

He clutched her hands that was still warm from sun. Visenya made to retract but he held on. "Father valued you dear sister, not because you were the eldest but you have it in you to lead our men should some harm befall me. He knew and so do I that you are no ordinary women and there is none else I would trust to carry on but you."

Aegon thought he saw her eyes twinkle as she turned away. A blink and the soft tear was gone.

"When do you leave?" She ask, her voice told him she was resigning.

"A week or so."

"So late?"

"The Redwynes are expecting us. I am going to stay for a week before sailing out. You, in the meantime, must learn all you can about their people." He leaned forward and cupped her face. Visenya jerked but he did all the same. "I am relying on you, beloved sister."

 

 

 


	3. Rhaenys

 

Of all things in the world, Rhaenys loved to fly. She loved the gust of wind that hit her, threatening to throw her off as Meraxes soared higher into the clouds. Both her elder siblings were as much capable dragon riders as her but they only rode to travel great distances. But Rhaenys rode for delight. She and Meraxes were connected in heart. Even in the stormiest night they would fly into the sky relishing the taste of freedom.

Under her spread the land of Andals. Sparsely populated scattered over the vast area, much of which is covered with deep forests. Deers galloped over the grasslands as Meraxes roared above. The towns were growing each moon, with new buildings, granaries and timbered inns. Each time she flew above them, the small folk would hide in their wood and mud houses and peak out. Sometimes Rhaenys dismounted and talked to the naked and dirt covered children. They were apprehensive to go near a stranger with a fully grown dragon. But Rhaenys always managed to get past their walls. She would carry sweets and wooden horses for them. Their clatter would make her forget her empty bosom.

Rhaenys wanted children, to gave her beloved an heir, to see his face light up as he picks up his son. But it was not to be. Three years into marriage and neither of the sisters could give him a son. People whispered behind them. It didn't seem to bother her elder sister who found every solution to be taking off head but it cut her skin every time she hears 'barren woman'.

She returned to the grim structure of Dragonstone by sun down astride Meraxes.

The black dot on the cliff appeared to be a human as Meraxes soared lower.

"Go on" She whispered to the majestic beast. The last rays of sun still glinted off it's ivory skin. The dragon purred at her words and spread its leathery wings and took off. Looking back, she saw the said person, a young lad crouched on the ground, face hidden behind his hands. 

"It's alright" She assured soothingly pulling him to his feet. "You'll get used to it. Once they know you, you'll know how beautiful they are. And intelligent, more than most men, I dare say."

The lad still trembled and Rhaenys took an intimidate pity on him. "Come on." She urged heading back to the castle.

"A raven came, my lady," He informed when he had at last composed himself. "Arrived this morning from Oldtown. From your sister."

Her heart ached at his words. She had hoped it had been sent by Aegon. It was almost a month since they had left for Oldtown. The only raven that came was from the Redwynes informing her of their safe arrival.

At the throne-room, they were met by Maester. He handed her a small scroll which she unfurled.

" _Dearest sister,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. As you know, we have reached the Arbor a fortnight ago and we had traveled thoroughly through the reach. The books in the Citadel, oh sister, I wish I could show in person. There are ancient epics written in oldest scrolls and most puzzling accounts in them. Most of them are gossips of fishwives I believe, but still fascinating._

_Aegon is in good health, I assure you. We went hawking two days ago and he had no lack of entertainment._ "

Of course not, she thought darkly.

" _However, a situation has arisen that must be addressed with haste. I cannot explain much as this letter will not allow it but you must know, Aegon is riding to Dragonstone. He'll be landing a day after this reaches you._

_Take care of Vhagar for me. I dream of him crying alone in the sky._

_Yours, Visenya._ "

_____

Soon, by next morrow, all three dragons screamed in unison announcing the arrival of Lord of Dragonstone. The ship reached the dock and Aegon landed with some fifteen men. Visenya must have only few guards with her.

Aegon's had grown a beard while being away. Rhaenys could see lines of worry etched in his smooth skin. Her heart lurched in wild speculation.

When he neared the great iron gates of Dragonstone, Rhaenys stepped forth towards her husband.

"My lady." His greeting was music to her ear. How she had missed it. She cupped his face in both hands and pulled him to a kiss. It was soft and chaste. Rhaenys could smell the salty odor and his bristly beard grazed her cheeks. She had wanted to deepen there kiss but Aegon pulled away and asked to be led. Rhaenys concealed her hurt knowing he must have grave tidings and took them inside.

After lunching and warming up by fireside, Aegon proceeded to his chamber followed by Rhaenys.

The air was warm and heavy inside. Much preferable to the sharp rush of northern wind that howled through the stone castle. Aegon stripped off cloak and robes while Rhaenys locked the door. It was unnecessary for they were man and wife and also nobody dared to venture this way knowing they will be here.

Aegon untied his breeches and sat on the edge of the bed. Golden light from the hearth cast shadows on his sharp features. Rhaenys unfastened her own cloaked and approached her husband.

She knelt in front of him and took his icy hands in her own. "What is it, my love?"

In reply, Aegon shook his head gravely. "I have to leave for Volantis in two days." He told her. "The Archon had sent me another messenger and I couldn't neglect this anymore. Also our trade is dwindling as Essos bleeds internally."

Rhaenys had known her husband fairly, better than anyone. "That is not why you decided this suddenly." She remarked.

Aegon broke into a soft smile and nodded.

"Tell me." She said soothingly. Aegon obliged and pulled her up and made her sit beside him.

With a heavy sigh he began, "You don't really understand pain until you have witnessed it. Even if you are not feeling it, it eats you. I met a man, Rhaenys. Old, gaunt and rotting in pig shit. He came from Volantis with no money; his house was put to torch, and his daughter, raped and abducted. His wife too."

"How terrible." Rhaenys whispered.

"Then I met another in Oldtown. A young girl, no more than eight lying on the docks. Silver hair like yours, Lysene. Raped and slashed open. Came as slave from Tyroshi ship. The usual fate of a refugee."

Only the crackling of flames were heard in otherwise silent room.

Rhaenys broke the calm first. "The Storm King, Argilac had led his host to the Disputed lands."

"I've heard. He is a cunning man, he is. Always had eyes for spoils of war." He muttered. "Orys will depart tomorrow with our vassal. I'll follow him on Balerion"

"You are not taking me with you." Rhaenys said anxiously. "At least take Visenya."

Her husband kissed her cheeks and said, "Visenya is needed in south and you are needed here."

"What if you do not return? How shall I live then?"

"I will." He assured.

"You'll be leaving so soon." Rhaenys lamented.

"I am here now. I needed to see you." He whispered crashing their lips together.

"Have you started your moonblood?" He asked as he pulled her closer.

"It is due, my love. If the Gods are kind, I can give you a son tonight."

Aegon fumbled with her robes and tore them off impatiently. As soon as she was free from them, she lunged on him.

She had missed his smell. Rhaenys took on his aroma and without preamble, took him inside her.

The sound of their pleasure echoed off the stone walls as they made sweet, violent love.

When they were spent, Rhaenys laid in her brother's arm; Aegon carded through her hair.

"How is Visenya in bed?" She had been burning to know how her enigmatic sister really was. Aegon never answered anything about her and he remained silent.

"Does she use one of those poisons in vial?"

Aegon faced her sternly. "I see know reason why it should bother you."

"I just want to know." She remarked lightly.

"She is my wife. That is all you need to know."

 

 

 

 


	4. Orys

The deafening roar of the Titan heralded their arrival. Tremors quaked through him. Orys Baratheon clutched the ropes of the sail to steady himself. He was a grown man of two and twenty, towering over most men but the Titan still succeeded in making him stunted. The legs of the statue was perched on two mountains, between them, flowed the water that carried them to the heart of the city. It was giant structure of black granite, armor and skirt of bronze were fashioned on its body; on e hand coiled around the ridge, the other wielding broken sword thrust into the sky. It's eyes blazed inside his face that was hidden in the half helm. They watched their guests and alerted the Arsenal.

The Arsenal was just beyond the gate; an immense fortress with battlements; trebuchets and scorpions ready to fire at enemy. The cities defense was built here. On the side of the natural wall that surrounded Braavos were their fleet. War galleys with purple hull were being loaded with men and ammunition. The war had called every able-bodied men from their home to fight for foreign lands; there was chaos and noise all around.

The Braavosi were the principal trader of Targaryens. As their island yielded no food or minerals, they were heavily dependent on other cities for supplies. Braavos traded their oysters, clams and squids for the timber they culled from the lands of Westeros.

The canals of the city was wide enough to allow the passage of warship. The waters were brackish and shallow. On either side of the bank were temples of all Gods, grey stone houses, inns and brothels. The whores of Braavos were more diverse than of any ports as they catered for all men from farthest corner of the sea. There were silver haired Lysene, Norvosi, slaves escaped from Volantis who were marked by tear tattoos and even few Ghiscari.

Braavosis were true to their word. A party that comprised of magisters and Sealord's own ambassador and guard waited for them. Their ship, the Pole Star docked on the Purple Harbor and they got off their three days journey.

A tall, gaunt man in dark green robes stepped forwards introduced himself as the adviser to the Sealord and Prime lord of the Magister council greeted them in broken Valyrians with heavy Braavosi accent.

"Forgive me, but I do not see Aegon Targaryen." His eyes scanned around to find his friend and brother.

"The Lord of Dragonstone" He replied tautly, "Will be arriving soon. His dragon needed to refresh itself before we proceed." The mention of the great dragon roused nervous whispers among the Braavosi.

They were escorted to the Sealord's palace on light barges that sailed on Sweetwater river, only source of water that sustained the peninsula. The palace itself is huge colossal structure built on rocky cliffs. Several domes rose out from it and a golden thunderbolt rested atop the spire that spun among the seagull's cry. It was north of the Iron Bank's white, striking edifice and had several people coming in and out of it.

They were sent to their respective quarters as they must wait for Aegon's arrival. The following day, all the great Lords and officials the free cities along with King Argilac and Aegon are to gather in a convention that discussed the terms of peace settlement. The Volantene hostilities had dwindled and with Aegon Targaryen intervening, now was a felicitous to settle for amity.

When the dusk settled and the Red Priests roused their chants to the Red God R'hllor and the ports twinkled with flames, the sea birds gave out a daunting, startled cry followed by forceful flap of leathery wings that seemed to cover the entire sky. Orys called his household guards and ordered a boat to carry them across to his Lord.

Balerion, the Black Dread was perched on the tall, mountainous islands which form a semi-circle around the city, roaring and screeching. His half brother had already dismounted and was being welcomed by a band of ambassadors. It was entertaining to see them dash back as the dragon raised its horned head and roared into the dusk. Fire glowed deep inside it's throat and made the beast look more fearsome.

"Orys, brother." Aegon greeted as their retinue neared him. Even they were not joined by blood, they were brother by heart. It warmed Orys that Aegon felt the same.

"No trouble, I hope, my Lord." Orys said when the broke apart.

"None. But damn you with your 'my lord'. You do not courtesy, my friend." They fell into a file as they returned to the docks.

"If I do not call the Lord of Dragonstone, 'my lord', no one will show you that courtesy."

"I know. I suppose I am not used to it as I should be. By the Seven Gods, I still wake up each morrow and muse what am I doing in my father's chamber." Aegon muttered. That is why he loved Aegon. His humbleness and ability to maintain his rank in accord to the company around them.

Orys stayed up all night in his chamber, tossing and turning on the soft, unfamiliar bed. The room was lit with exquisite lamps and drapes that hung swayed with the ocean winds. His room in Dragonstone was compact with hard bed with straw mattress and smelly woolen wrapper that served as bed for kittens when not in use. Crash of ocean waves that hit the shore and cries from ships were the only sound in the silent night.

Beside him lay the red haired where, a gift from the SeaLord. A celebrated Courtesan for Aegon; a common whore for him. While Orys had brought her to his chamber, Aegon had declined stating he is bound to his sisters.

It won't be breaking any vow, he had told him. Rhaenys did regularly if the maids were to be believed and anyone who lied with Visenya was never heard of again.

He was baseborn and unmarried. Free to lie with anyone he pleases. And he had admirers too. The girls that were too low for his brother warmed his beds. Orys had never lied with noble woman. They must be scared, trembling creatures he assumed. They were no fun.

He watched her nonexistent breast rise and fall; she turned around a lot and to his much irritation, snored.

He must have dozed off for when he woke up, the sun glowered above and his bed was empty. With grunt, he hopped off his bed and rubbed off the languor.

He found his brother conversing with a short, bald man with bulging belly that proudly rose out from his robes. By his garments, Orys judged he was Pentoshi.

Hearing his footsteps, Aegon raised his head and welcomed him with smile. Orys returned his courtesy and stood sentry by the door, deciding it would be rude to interrupted.

Shortly, the Magister rose and gathered his robes and bowed too low, taking his leave. Orys hated his false smile and gleaming eyes.

"How long were you up?" He asked filling a goblet of Arbor red and pushing towards him. He himself refilled his.

"Till dawn I suppose."

The chairs were cushioned and sank when he settled on it.

"What kept you?"

"My bed." He replied. Aegon looked tired like a sailor homebound after long sail. Only they weren't home.

Aegon paused to dwell before answering. "I keep thinking about it. Every time I decide it is time, my plans are interrupted by anything that I want to avoid. Maybe it is what lies in my fate. Perhaps the God is trying to convey that I must fight for the East again. Maybe Visenya was right. That maybe we belong there, in the ashes."

"Maybe you had too much too drink." Orys remarked and snatched away his glass. "Come brother. The gods are for Septons and mothers in birthing bed. We men are creator of our destiny and we do not create if we are pondering away idly."

* * *

 

The convention was held in the stately hall in the Sealord's palace. The floors were made of white, glossy marbles and walls and columns, the color of pearl. In the center, sat a round tab;e, forged of blue crystal. Around it were seats for the Lords. Orys sat in the back in the rows designated for rest of the advisers and retinue, uneasy as the small stool would not hold his hefty structure. 

Slowly the hall filled in with emissaries and governing officials from all over Essos. There came the Prince of Pentos, flocked by his magisters. Most of them were completely composed of fat that jiggled under their robes. Some bearded priests accompanied the Norvoshi. There were envoys from Qohor, Lorath, Tyrosh and even Qarth. Orys however couldn't spot the Storm King.

The raucous roar of the agitated crowd mingled with grunts from commanders and captains, died down when the Sealord at the head of the table took his stance. After customary greetings and exchange of goodwill, he moved on to addressing the trouble in hand.

"I believe our Volantene envoy has some answer to our accord." Everyone turned to the far right corner of the hall. They were band of fifteen. One Elephant, two Tiger with their entourage.

The Elephant proceeded forward and began by acknowledging the spoils and destruction of war, then continued to teeter between words of peace and Volantis's claim. Orys could displeasure and impatience in every one's face, even his own company. Finally, his Tiger counterpart took the foreground.

He had a haughty and imperious air about him, determined not to back down in the critical time. His opening was different than his predecessor.

"Valyria in her apex was the greatest civilization that ever flourished on earth. With her fall, she had left her daughters to thrive in the world but we find ourselves torn in brawl and war-"

"And who started it?" Someone sneered from the back. The envoy took no heed and continued. "Volantis is strategically closer to Valyria than any of her daughters, the oldest and had more ties with her, in commerce and politics. It is only apt that Volantis succeeds her with-"

His declaration was met by violent uproar and angry protests.

"Valyria-" He shouted struggling to make his voice heard above the roar of angry council.  Mariros Vhassaar, most prominent of the Pentoshi who sat right beside the Prince and was generally recognized as the voice of Pentos spoke in grave tone. "You might be ignorant to the on going situation, my lord. But Valyria is gone. For hundred and fifty years. We have among us, a true Valyrian" He gestured to Aegon who remained with impassive stance. "Ask him if you will. With end of Valyria, all her control has seized. The undesirable conquest you have stated-"

"Begging your pardon but claiming what is rightfully ours is not what 'conquest' is." The envoy replied icily followed by more  objection and mockery.

"I think we have sailed past that. Volantis has made her stance very clear. We have forwarded our peace proposition and I believe you are here to convey the answer."

"I am, my good Lords. However we cannot converse of peace unless you have pulled off your armies from the disputed lands and Lys."

"Lys is a free and independent state." Another councilman voiced. "She had asked for help and we are bound by duty to protect her against external aggression."

"With that many whorehouses and brothels, I'm sure she does." He chuckled.

"Laugh all you want. But your masters have reason to be uneasy. From what I hear, his position is not all too all. The peace proposal will save whatever dignity Volantis will have."

Amidst another uproar, Aegon stood up for the first time and raised his hand. "My Lords." He called to the agitated mass. "My Lords. If I may, I believe I have a say in the matter. I will admit, none of this concerned me and I had resolved to stay away from politics of Essos. But recently I encountered certain people who forced me to fly off my island and land amidst the chaos. 

We rulers boast of our power and tussle with each other for supremacy. We forget we are but men. Same men as our common folk. The same common folk we rule over and are sworn to protect. In this war, soldiers die. But the small folk do more. They suffer the worst for other man's vanity and greed. They do not die as soldiers die for glory. No, they die for no one."

"That is humane of you Lord Targaryen.." The quietest of the Volantene spoke, Orys could taste the tinge of malice in his tone.

"Some one should be in times of war" Aegon looked him in the eye. "We have sacrificed so many for no avail. And more will follow if Volantis does not concede. Most of us do not believe Volantis does not stand a chance against our allied force. It would be mercy on your people if you give up your futile dream and surrender."

His speech was interrupted by a harassed looking messenger, red in the face and panting for breath, He muttered grunts apologies as he tripped through the rows and whispered to the Sealord. Orys watched his expression undergo drastic change. Where there was proud and condescending smirk, scorching anger bloomed, his eyes turned hard and stony.

"It seems that Volantis has chosen her fate" He declared looking at the emissaries who didn't look puzzled. "I hope your dragon is well rested, Lord Targaryen. I believe we may need his help after all." 

 

 

 


	5. Argella

Argella's father had been fighting the rebels in the other side of the sea again. Thirty moons past and not a raven from him. Maestar Hectar had said the storm that raged over the narrow sea was to be held responsible for no birds or ships could cross the turbulent water at this time.

While he fought fought the Volantenes for gold and riches, Harren the Black had sent another band of rogue bandits to the outskirt of Stormlands raiding villages lining Blueburn. With only about two thousand garrison most of whom were stationed on smaller castles that bordered House Hoare's territory, rest have departed with Storm King.

Warne Connington, the Lord of Griffin's Roost was vested with governance while father reaped the scraps of war. Connington had done his duty by sending troops after the reapers who had already escaped with loot.

Kiara, one of her chambermaid had lost her father in the loot and cried day and night by door side. Argella was of mind to send emissary to caution Harren of his barbarous acts but at this moment she had other pressing matters to attend.

Visenya Targaryen, sister-wife of Aegon, Lord of Dragonstone had requested refuge after her train had been attacked by bunch of outlaws west of Ashford. From the messenger, she knew three of her guards were dead and one of her companion mortally wounded. Argella had responded by sending their swiftest horses and most capable hands to welcome her in.

The honk of the trumpet announced their arrival and Argella climbed down the stairs that spiraled down around the main fort of Storm's End. The strong gale that blew outside had no effect on the large stone walls that surrounded the fortress. Wind howled through the tunnels and stone passages like ghosts crying for their beloved.

Outside the curtain wall, her guests waited to be welcomed. Visenya Targaryen was tall, taut and graceful with purple eyes that stood out against her pale, satiny skin and her silver hair that was braided to her waist. She was ravishing, Argella thought. She had heard rumors of her beauty and she could now confirm them as true. Her perfectly defined eyebrows that crunched in distrust to the bow like upper lip and her chiseled cheek bones, she was incarnation of strength and beauty.

Drawing closer however, Argella noticed a thin cut on her right cheek, undoubtedly slit by sword. Blood was sliding in thread like line down her skin. She was clutching her left arm with a rag that had turned bloody. Her robs were soiled and drenched with blood.

"Fetch the maester." Argella commanded one of her guards.

To Visenya, she bowed and said, "Welcome to Storm'd End, my lady." Visenya returned courtesy by nodding and accepting her hand. Her palms were rougher and calloused than a woman's was generally, consequence of bearing arms.

"My companions need tending." She said in raspy, controlled voice. Argella could see she was was trying to retain her calm. She assured they will be taken care of.

"I have arranged a chamber for you and I pray you will be comfortable. I have had maids draw warm bath for you. If you would, change into fresh robes. Send for me if you need anything. We wait upon you."

Argella herself walked her to her chamber. It was spacious inside. This used to be her mother's chamber. She couldn't recall Maygen Durrandon, Argella was only a babe when she had died. She had heard the septa say she was a sweet lady of even temper, not quite the Storm Queen. Argella had only her blue eyes, none of the golden hair her mother did. All that remained was the faint trace of her touch on the wooden cabinet and harp.

Visenya did not come to lunch at one. Argella waited a while before deciding to make inquiry herself. It was not appropriate to keep the host waiting. The Valyrians were self-important people, they did not care for others anyway.

Visenya was with her party in the sick quarter where maesters and helpers who were attending the wounded. Their strained cries echoed through the stone passages. The Lady of Dragonstone sat by bed of a young lad, not much older than Argella herself. He had Valyrian features she noted. Hair as fair as snow

She was petting his forehead while the maester was nursing the gash on his belly. The wound stank of thick blood and acrid paste.

Visenya made no remark of her presence. She continued whispering soothingly, "Everything will be well."

"I am going to die." The patient wheezed and blood spurted out of his mouth. "I am dying."

"Hush now!" She said and looked over to the maester who had the same grave face when Nora died. Poor boy, Argella thought. Green summer boy, too young to die in sick bed.

Argella waited behind her patiently. When the boy had been patched and subdued with milk of poppy, Visenya rose from her seat and followed her to dining hall.

"My prayers are with him and all others, my lady." Argella said. "They'll recover, I am sure of it."

"Don't be sure of anything, you'll only be disappointed." She remarked, a bit harshly. Argella sympathized and did not utter any word of protest.

After lunch, they sat by fire side of her chamber.

"Harren has been raiding the hills and the riverlands. Only two moon ago, our villages on the bank of Blueburn were looted and houses put to torch. As my father, the King, is away, his aggression has increased two-fold."

"Yes. Harren Hoare has been barbarous enough." Visenya agreed. She was tightening the patch on her arm . Blood bloomed on the cloth like a flower with four petals. "But the attackers were not of their land, I assure you. They were of your own."

Argella was speechless at this accusation. Visenya continued, "They flew color of red and white, but I do not think they were sworn to any house. They were upon us like pack of wolves before we knew anything. Clearly they know the terrain."

Argella tried to recall which house flew those colors. There were few many possibilities. The south-west side of the Stormlands were hard to maintain.

"My captain of guards took the first sword to his heart, followed by two more. And Corlys, poor, stupid Corlys. He can't even throw a spear and he stepped in front of attack. Boys. Always foolish and hasty with no mind of their own. Eager to please and out do others than having any care for risk. Now look at him." She finished sadly.

Argella had heard the whispers. That Visenya took other men to her bed while her husband was away. But she didn't expect her lover to be so young. Argella didn't know what to make of it. She understood her husband shared her with another woman, but that does not justify her illicit affairs.

"Any word from you father?" Visenya queried.

"None." Argella muttered. "I pray to the Seven Gods everyday to bring him home. I am only two and ten. I cannot defend such huge land."

She would have asked for her assistance but Visenya seemed unfazed by the unrest in their land. Why would she defend a land that was not her own?

"Will you be staying long?" She had asked her.

"Only few days so we can restock our supplies and we shall take our leave."


	6. Visenya

There's a tavern on the bank of Rhoyne, Visenya sought shelter on her way. The landlord, a stooping man of three and fifty with an arched nose and uninterested gaze maintained a roadside inn for ten guests or so. He'd take in all sorts of travelers, rogue sell swords and runaway lovers, no questions asked.

Visenya landed in the outskirts of Selhorys in the afternoon but had not set foot inside the city walls till dusk when the the followers of the Red god held their ritual march. She could choose to stay at the best guest house would circumstances were different.

Even with her silver-gold hair completely hidden under her hood, Visenya knew her identity cannot be long hidden. Her eyes and complexion gave away her Valyrian descent. She wore plain clothes, breeches under her skirt and a cloak that shielded her from cold and curious stares. It is preferable to have anonymous arrangement.

She had a good ride; this being her fifth time crossing the narrow seas and flying over the bastard cities of Valyria and ruins of Rhoyne. Even in the fog that lingered over the Sorrow, she could spot the broken towers and sunken temples, the Palace of Love reduced to Palace of Sorrow. With an empire so majestic it rivaled that of Valyria and soon brought on the war that sent the civilization crumbling to dust.

Visenya knew the story. She had been an avid reader. When the maester sat with them through their education, she was the first to arrive. The stories he told enraptured her so much, she would not know that it's all in the past now with nothing but skeletons left of it. To her the characters of history in her paper books were more alive then flesh and blood men.

After the capture of the Rhoynis prince, Garin the great, the valyrians hung him in a golden cage, a trophy, spoil of war. Humiliated and grieving, Garin called upon Mother Rhoyne to bring destruction to the invaders. She listened: the river water rose in the dead of night devouring all of Chroyane. The festival city that died overnight, maybe a foreshadowing of what was coming for Valyria. The heavy mists that drapes the ruins, it is said, are cold breaths of the dragonlords trapped underneath the water.

"What can I get you, my lady?" The landlord appeared.

"Mutton" She ordered him, "Smoked, not charred with some peas and good ale."

He took off with a nod and Visenya slumped down on a stool. She could feel eyes on her; it was unusual for a highborn lady travel alone. She pulled her satchel closer and felt the dagger under her robe, praying the cook would hurry up and she could be in the safety of her room.

After dinner, Visenya was shown to her room. The ceiling hung so low that Visenya could hit her head but she did not mind, it is only for a night or two. She buried the satchel under her bed and the dagger under her pillow.

Dawn found her riding out again, this time on a horse. The man at the stable was hesitant to let her rent one of his stallions and it took her ten more gold to earn his consent. She followed the river south towards Valysar and then deviated east towards the Orange Shore.

The rising sun lit the distant red hills and with the first crow of cock, people emerged out of their huts. Visenya passed the young maiden milking a goat. Her dark eyes glistened with curiosity and awe. Others were less kind. The sight of the lady in black, face obscured by veil made them wary and whisper in her wake. Visenya is used to it, having experienced the same with the people back in the island.

Vegetation grew sparse with more distance she crossed. Cool shades of woods were replaced hot air currant that only fostered prickly cactus. Visenya felt her throat grow dry every now and then; her horse suffered silently, the sound of its hooves rang loud in the wasteland.

When the sun loomed right above her head and her back was stiff from riding, Visenya entered the village that would not show up in any maps of maester. One could debate about it's status as village. It encompassed no more than ten houses, all built of mud and straw. The residents were all women. Maegis, the people called them. God's service they claimed to be. They formed a family out of blood bonds and lived together as spouses, sustain themselves with the crops they grew, collecting water from the muddy stream. Rest of human populations avoided them as pariahs, even the bandits steered clear of their residence.

Visenya stopped at the makeshift gate from which some dried tendrils hung. The women, all wearing black and headress with with colored stones around their neck, cast her a look and went back to their work. Visenya tied the horse to the gate and let it chew on the hedges. To the first woman to come her way, she asked to be directed to their mage.

In front of the last hut that had canopy in its entrance, her companion gestured her to go in. Inside was heavy with incense and reeked of rotting flesh, blood and fumes of acid. A small figure moved in the shadows who seemed to be completely unfazed by her presence.

Visenya did not wait to be acknowledged and sat on the ground in front of a small wooden desk atop which sat a bowl of silver liquid.

The Razek, known to their community as the Learned One, was a short, plump women with high cheekbones and eyes so black that could devour the sun. Said to be older than banyan tree, she went by the name of Nysa before she was cast out of her home and sought sanctuary in the temple of God before being driven away by the villagers out of fear of her abilities.

Once seated and they both faced each other, she procured a glass of viscous liquid out of her robes and offered it to Visenya who accepted and brought the glass to her lips.

"It is made from date." Razek said when Visenya had swallowed the last drop of the sweet drink. "Nooj makes them for my condition-" She lifted her blouse to reveal the black veins on her flabby stomach and with raw, itching skin.

"Is that meant to deter me?" Visenya asked.

"It is meant for caution. Now, tell me what brings you here, silver lady?"

Visenya reached for her satchel and extracted a battered book bound by leather skin. The front cover was marked by a peculiar symbol: a horn etched on a circle with odd carvings. The pages were moth eaten and yellow with time and many of it were marked by black ink in common tongue.

"I do not speak this language." Razek said as she examined it.

"You do not need to." Visenya pointed out.

Razek smirked and placed her right hand over the cover. Her eyes snapped shut and Visenya could feel her withdrawing from this world. Once in a while her eye brows will scrunch and her lips will tremble but Visenya knew better not to disturb her.

Finally she opened the book without raising her lids and ran her hands over the diagrams.

"This is different than anything I've held. The magic is different in the seven kingdoms, it is all about conducting than feeling it inside you. More physical. Nonetheless, a powerful tool. You must have searched the entire kingdom for this."

"Only the Citadel." Visenya answered.

"It is sad that you should do so much to get your hands on this yet you do not want to commit to the surer way."

"And longer. I do not want to spend the my lifetime singing hymn to the deity, that is for you. I neither the patience, nor your spark. I am what you said call practical. But I hear your caution. It is unsafe to practice without a learned one by my side. That'd be you, if only you would agree to my proposal. It still stands. You could have your own temple, more tools like these. Just say the word."

"As much as I'd like to say it is my duty that keeps me here, I do want to leave for a land I do not know, nor I care about. I do not care about the war to come or the castles to perish. I've given shown you the door to our world, dragon lady and you've acquired what you seek. Have care how you wield it."  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Aegon

Scouts reported that two hundred war galleys from Volantis have already sailed. A massive armada of that largeness required hastened band of their own for combat. The council broke with rumble of chaos and the ambassadors of each free city had to disband to return and raise their own army.The Prince of Pentos had departed early with his magisters to prepare their fleet. Soon Aegon would meet him again at his palace, the situation demanded so.

While they were discussing terms of peace, Volantis had stealthily planned an attack that was unprecedented at this stage. Lys lay conveniently closest to Volantis, with sufficient garrison but still vulnerable. And they had chosen ingenious time to strike.

It would take a day to sail from Volantis to Lys, while Pentos, closest to them was two days of sea away. Braavos, another day. By the time all of them could assemble their fleet, Lys would fall. As of that moment another army on foot were marching to Myr.

Qohor and Norvos, two daughters of Valyria and the only ones that were not by the sea side and on the bank of Rhoyne could resist the invasion till rest of their combined militia arrive and at worst, Aegon himself.

But his primacy was securing Lys. He cannot wait for the allied fleet to reach. On his dragon, he will bring fire and blood to the Volantenes.

"Bloody sons of whores." Orys muttered as they were being ferried across the canal. "They knew of this convention and had been waiting." Aegon gave a nod of agreement.

Atop the ragged cliffs, Balerion the black dread was perched, head resting on his extensive dark wings. His red and black scales glinted off sunlight. Even with his eyes close, Aegon knew his dragon was alert. Any false step and he would sweep down, raging fire.

Aegon got off first and proceeded to climb up. Balerion gave out a grungy purr, recognizing his rider and spread out his wings. The hills shook under him and he paused to keep himself steady.The beat of his wings made the men below cower back with fright. He wasn't daunted. He was the spawn of dragons with ancient and pure Valyrian blood.

He recalled his father, Aerion Targaryen riding Balerion into sunrise for parley with the lords of the seven kingdoms. He would return at dusk. Aegon would wait in the highest tower of Dragonstone and when he heard the great dragon roar, he would run down to greet his father.

He learned to ride him shortly after. He was a trained dragon, having served the Targaryens for centuries. When Aegon attempt to climb him, he gently lowered it's head so that the young lad could pull himself up by his horns. Unlike Vhagar and Meraxes who were hatched only years ago and were yet to be tamed, the great beast bowed to them without hesitation.

The flight to Pentos was longer than it was from Dragonstone to Volantis. The widespread clouds and sharp wind was hampering their motion. Aegon could hardly see any thing in blizzard. Forceful gusts of wind were making it hard for him to cling on to the back. It blew south east so the Volantenes would have wind in their sails while they were faced with the opposite of air currant. This would tarry them even more.

He thought about Rhaenys, her silk hair and twinkling eyes. And Visenya's strength and composure. He longed to be home but first he must do this. He had given his word.

Balerion landed on Pentos some time in the evening. The sun has set long before. Aegon paid the Prince and Magisters visit of courtesy where he assured them he will fly out before dawn breaks and retired early.

Come morning, Aegon roused himself from his sleepless bed and called for his attendant to put on his armor. He donned his heavy chain-mails first which reached his knees. Then came his red breastplate, gauntlets and dragon headed helmet. Aegon lifted his visor and checked his vision, he'd be much more comfortable with the heavy metal squeezing his head but he could not risk it. Lastly, he sheathed his sword Blackfyre, a single ruby engraved on it's black neck.

It appeared all of Pentos have arrived to send him off to war. Closest to him were the magisters and other wealthy traders spitting words of courage while rubbing their paunch. Behind the barricade of guards, thousands of men stood, with children on their shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled dragon of Valyria.

With their good wishes, Aegon took his leave. Balerion stretched out his black wings, roared and kicked off the ground sending rocks and sand on the people below. The cheers and shouts died beneath him.

It was still dark and misty with thunder cracking ominously. The winds bellowed around him; he could hardly hear. Balerion's heat kept him warm, the iron were absorbing the warmth. Silently, the glided to Lys.

Aegon could not say when he reached the small island of city surrounded by stormy rocks. After three generation of being under control of Volantis, the Lovely city was free only to be under attack again.

They did not land, rather chose to circle overhead hidden by the dark clouds and fog. If everything went as instruction was given, they must have manned their wall now. Aegon waited in the sky like hawk.

Soon enough, one solitary boat, so small anyone could miss it, hurried across the raging waters. A messenger heralding attack.

Aegon clutched on to the horns. Balerion roared his battle cry; fire shot from his mouth through the clouds and swooped down.

Volantene fleet was two leagues away from coast when their galleys were spotted. Aegon did not wait. With boiling spirit, he spurred Balerion who hissed angrily and dived into battle sphere.

Screams of burnt men and Balerion's screech echoed through the sea. Before they could prepare their scorpions and spears, Balerion lit up the front of their armada. That made the fleet divide as the ships in the middle burnt and sank into the ocean. He then took the right, disappearing into the cloud and coming down heaving fire.

Their spears and arrows were of no use. Those fortunate one that made past the first were deflected off Balerion's scales. Through smoke mingled sky and cries of pain, Balerion returned all ashes to sea.  
  



	8. Visenya

Clang.

Steel met with steel; metallic melody echoed throughout the smoking hill. The young lad's step wobbled as he made to sidestep and slipped his footing. Visenya retracted her sword giving her opponent chance to pick himself up.

The youngest Velaryon regained his stance quickly enough, gripping his sword by two hands, panting heavily. A drop of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose. His breath turned into puff of smoke in the chilly morning.

"Again." Visenya commanded. She remained in same pose, weight resting on one side, Dark Sister in her right hand. The cold air was seeping through her chainmails and she longed for the warmth of furnace. But she had to train the young squire her uncle had deposited at her service.

Colrys was still fragile from the blow he took years ago, wincing at the slightest hit on his belly. He was quick on his feet however and quick witted, he could act before anyone got close to him.

He was collecting his strength, drawing heavy breaths. But that did not fool Visenya who was a seasoned warrior herself. She had anticipated Colrys's sudden lash that came on her; she blocked lazily and pushed him back.

"Do not grunt." She chastised. "It gives you away."

To his credit, Corlys got up and clutched the neck of sword. Instead of lunging head on, he danced forward, using his intellect to read body language. She whacked to his left. Sure enough, Corlys met him with swing of his sword. Before they could clash, Visenya had ducked and kicked his knee, knocking out his balance so he fell back on his arse.

"That was not fair!" He yelled, covered in dirt. "You were attacking to my right. I was caught off guard."

Visenya tutted. "You should be looking at my eyes boy, not my hands. And you expect the battle to be fair? A battle is never fair. You and your sword are one. When you fight, you use all of you."

She was about to recount him the story of her brother's first training with her when a shout from courtyard was heard. Visenya looked for the disturber. Maester Cyrus stood in his grey robes waving a scroll in the air. Several chains hung from his neck making him droop with weight, resulting in his crooked back.

"Clean after yourselves." She ordered the master at arms, heavily set man, muscled like a bull. He shot her a hostile look as she passed him. His pride was hurt waiting on a woman wielding swords. He was gifted fighter and a trust-able man, otherwise his head would have come off the first day.

She took off her gauntlets and unclasped the lock on breastplate. The ringmail fell to the ground with ringing thud.

"A raven from the Storm king, my lady." He informed in wheezy voice.

During her predecessors time, all scrolls were read by the maester first and delivered to the Lord of Dragonstone who usually was the eldest child. Perhaps that was why, Aegon had entrusted Visenya with this, to show she still was above him even if he was the Lord of Dragonstone. She unrolled the scroll and scanned.

"Fetch my brother." She commanded. The maester nodded and scurried away.

Once in her chamber, she instructed the maid to draw her bath. In the privacy of curtains she striped off her robes and sank into the scalding tub. She did not flinch at the stinging water. Targaryens were the blood of the dragon. Fire gave them strength and life. It cleaned away their sins, purified the soul.

The words of the scroll did not leave her mind however and she rose quickly and dried herself. She put on her robe: red embroidery on black. The Targaryen colors.

"Where is my brother?" She asked the guard at the door of the west hall where the painted table was installed. A huge slab of wood carved in the likeness of the land of Westeros, designed by thirteen men who had traveled with her and Aegon in their voyage throughout the seven kingdoms.

"He is coming, my lady." He did not dare to meet her eyes. Frustrated and angry with her brother's callousness, Visenya whirled around and made her way to her brother's chamber; her entourage followed her.

Two sentries were stationed outside his chamber, snickering among themselves. Visenya's appearance struck them like lightening. With fear in their eyes, they crossed their spear barring her way.

Visenya was stunned by their audacity. "Move." She commanded.

"He is resting, my lady." They mumbled.

"You will rest forever, if you do not move."

Both of them glanced at each other and a silent conversation passed between them and they pulled back their spear.

"Stay." She instructed her own guards and let herself inside.

A sweet fragrance permeated through the stuffy and dimly lit interior. His writing desks were piled with parchments and leather bound books; the chair was vacant. She proceeded to his bedchamber where gentle murmur and light, throaty chuckle was issuing from.

There lay Aegon, his modesty only saved by a spread of mattress and a naked Rhaenys on top of him."Brother." He peered at his elder sister in glinting eyes, an embarrassed smile on his lips. Above him, Rhaenys lifted her head reluctantly and purred, "Visenya."

"Sister." Visenya acknowledged and picked up the white robe lying on the floor and threw at them. Their unabashed courting she could digest. But seeing them tangled in intimate bond was too much.

"Have you decided to join us at last, darling sister?" She lifted the cover, revealing her arm caressing Aegon's hips. Rhaenys's taunt made her mouth turn acid. Thank the gods, she did not carry arms with her; she would have stabbed Rhaenys then and there. And Aegon along with her.

But if anything, Visenya was patient. She willed herself to be calm and masked with her false smile. "I sent you words." She accused Aegon who nodded. "Do you know who it was from?"

"Whatever it was, it could wait." Rhaenys complained and laid her hand on his chest.

"No it could not." Visenya snapped. "It is a proposal from the Storm king himself. The key to Westeros and here you lie, basking in pleasure while I am acting as raven."

Aegon roused himself and freed himself from Rhaenys's unwilling hold. He wrapped the silky sheet around his torso where a gash of sword was etched proudly. "No need to get so jealous, sister. I said I'd come to you tonight."

Visenya flushed inside but did not show, instead she barked at Rhaenys, "You too."

She left them to get dressed; she already felt like she was intruding in their privacy. After all this time, they did not feel like her family. Her husband was not of her own; nothing ever was. She felt unwelcome in the gloomy castle.

Some time letter, Aegon walked into the chamber of painted table, Rhaenys by his side. The council that comprised of the maester, master-at-arms, captain of household guard and Orys, who was away, rose to greet her brother. Visenya remained seated.

Aegon was passed the letter which he examined with furrowed brows.

"A marriage proposal." Rhaenys said, leaning over Aegon to read the message.

"Between me and Argella Durrandon." Aegon announced, his voice devoid of any emotion. Other council members gazed expectantly at Aegon who has busied himself in rereading it again.

"I've met Argella. Pretty, young lass." Visenya remarked. "She cared for my retinue when we were attacked in the Stormlands." She noticed flush creeping on Rhaenys's porcelain skin.

"She is only a child." She stated.

"A girl of ten and four. She is a maid grown and flowered." Maestar Cyrus contradicted and was rewarded with Rhaenys's hateful gaze.

"But the Lord has already two wives, wedded and sanctioned in front of the seven gods." Jallen argued; he still has not come to terms with Aegon taking his sister as wife, let alone two of them. Westerosis, Visenya thought.

"They are also offering lands, from God's eye to the trident as her dowry." Visenya pointed out. "They may be disputed but very fruitful stretch."

"Why sister? I did not take you as the sharing kind!" Rhaenys mocked, certainly unnerved by this. Visenya paid her no mind and talked to the council as one.

"Those lands could be obtained without much causality on our side." Caster pointed out.

"I thought we were conquering all of Westeros by force, not alliances." Rhaenys muttered.

"War is just not won by swords sister. It is won with strategy and alliance. Our coffers have depleted over years. We do not have gold or influence to hire men fight for us. This conflict between Hoare and Durrandon, we can use it for our own cause."

Caster may not like her taking same position as her brother but he agreed all the same. "My lady is right. Hoare is near completing that formidable battlement of his. I have heard people say the throne can shelter entire army; it has over thirty fire hearths. Sooner or later, we would have to meet his strength.

And old Argilac is scared now, he wants us to intervene. This might be the gods's blessing."

"And do what? Marry Aegon to Argilac's daughter?" Rhaenys cried. "If so, he'd have a say in how we govern."

"We do not have to listen to his house." Visenya argued. "After we have obtained the lands, his worth could be dwindled. If not, we can always manage something. But I say we discuss this with other lords of Crackshaw Point and Drftmark. And Orys. We need his counsel."

"We do, don't we?" Rhaenys remarked.

Aegon who was immersed in his own thought jerked at her addressal. "Hmm. I agree with Rhaenys. I already have two wives and can not ask for more." Rhaenys smiled contently.

"But Visenya is right in her estimation. We can not take over such vast land by meeting two houses in battle. Our numbers are against us."

"So what do you propose?"

"We propose that Argella be married to our brother Orys. In return we will side with them. They'd be our first ally. I shall call convention with all our principal supporters before I give final verdict."

"But Orys is a bastard, my lord." Cyrus said doubtfully. "Argilac will take it as a slight. He'd spurn our offer."

"Then we only have one path, don't we?"


	9. Argella

Everyday, after sundown, Argella visited the sept to light seven fires to the seven Gods, as was her ritual. She heard stories of her mother praying at the sept and giving out alms to the poor. Argella kept her mother alive by following her tradition. Her father, however was never fond of Gods. "Men make their own destiny, not Gods." He had claimed but would still light the alter before going off to war.

But tonight was tense; anxious murmurs whispered through the stone passageways and into her head. No God could push those away. It is time, the wild wind howled, it is time.

A great storm is coming, one eyed Sigurd who slept by the door of sept had told anyone who passed by. He had a sinister malice in his tone that gave his unhinged muttering more spine-chilling tone. No matter what the bravest soldiers claim, Argella did not doubt Sigurd's wheezy voice rang in their nightmare.

The door to her chamber opened with a heavy drag of iron door. Zoya, her flaxen-haired Pentoshi handmaiden stepped in. Argella could tell she was keeping an eye on the princess on her father's command. She sighed to herself.

"Would like me to send for the singer, princess?" She asked.

"No." Argella replied curtly and gazed out into the dusk. The rosy sky had blended into the mist of night and had taken an azure hue.

"Perhaps the court fool will have something amusing for you?" She suggested.

"No, thank you, Zoya. I am not in mood. You can leave." She said dismissively but Zoya hung back, clearly torn between her anger and the Storm King's command. Argella would pity her if she wasn't so determined to escape the cell of her chamber.

"Just get me something from the kitchen, a lemon cake, preferably." She commanded and Zoya left. In her place, an elderly maid and even more unrelenting, stood vigil. 

By the time Zoya returned with lemon cake and other delicacies, Argella was tugging at the sleeve of her robe, vexed from her father's inflexible orders. She understood her father wanted to shield her from awful rumors and talks of war as maidens should be, but Argella would rather hear them and be satisfied then wait in nervous tension for the worse.

She finished her cake and told the maid to share the leftovers among the guards. "I'd like to retire to bed."

"Now, princess?"

"Yes." She snapped. Zoya nodded and with the help of some other servants, made her bed.

"Close the door behind you Zoya and Tyene" She addressed the other girl, almost her age, "help me with these."

Tyene nodded obediently and proceeded to take out her night robes. As soon her robes came off, Argella whirled around and stuffed the fabric into Tyene's mouth. She thrashed and tried to scream but Argella muffled her efforts by fastening the robe around her mouth and hands. The girl almost gauged hey eyes out but she managed securing her.

"I am sorry for this but I will free you as soon as I get back. It won't be long." She dragged her beside her chamber-pot hidden behind her tub.

"I would require your clothes." She did not wait for her answer and tugged it off her. Slipping into the threadbare blouse and skirt, Argella took off all her ornaments and laid down her hair into tangled mess. Due to the chilly weather, they wore a heavy cloak and Argella hid herself under the soiled woolen cloak.

She closed the door firmly behind her and tried to slip past Zoya who guarded her way.

"The princess is off to bed, she wishes not to be disturbed." Argella said in her best common folk imitation.

"But the king told me not to leave her out of my sight." Zoya argued.

"Would you rather the princess complain that she could not sleep with you looming over her?" Zoya gave in with a frustrated grunt. Argella trusted she would not dare to disturb the 'sleeping princess'. 

Maids were ghosts, no one noticed them coming and going. Argella took care not to look anyone in the eye. When she reached the throne room, it was bursting with throng of people: his father's advisers, all of Stormland's warriors lords, high and lowborn, captains and generals of his army, all of them crying out their opinions in raucous uproar that may very well match the roar of dragon. 

Argella snaked through the crowd; several grunted in annoyance as she tried to slip past them, some muttered "cunt" and turned to scream again.

Huge stone columns held up the throne room that glowed with large fires burning high up in iron stands. A sublime throne of teak sat atop an elevated platform and was adjoined by several similar, but smaller seats for those closest to the royal highness. In front of them, there were rows of granite benches where people awaited the king's verdict.

Argilac Durrandon was perched atop the throne which could barely hold his gigantic physique, slumping to his left and clenching and unclenching his right fist, his usual indication of his vexation. Before him, a kneeling messenger waited with head hung low.

"Silence!" The Chief Steward's voice boomed.

"Read on." Her father commanded.

The elderly maester adjusted his bronze chain fastened around his neck and with a hint of mild amusement and much mockery, read on.

"I am well acquainted with your daughter's beauty and aptitude and I have no doubt of her virtue and purity."

Argella flushed as she recognized who it must be from. Her father had sent the proposal only few days ago; she had not expected answer so soon. She had heard maid talk of the Dragonlord's grace, his prowess as a warrior and dragon-rider. Argella wondered what he must be truly. His sister-wife Visenya was not a very kind and pleasant lady and she carried the infamous Targaryen pride.

"I am bound to my sisters by law and affection and I can not spite them for their devotion. Orys, my most trusted adviser and my lifetime companion, however, remains unmarried and he is..."

The storm king cut him off. "I do not know this Orys he speaks of."

"His bastard half brother, your grace." Kegan Penrose said. "Spawn of some fishwife, no doubt."

The hall vibrated with wild laughter; Argella sunk with heavy heart. Argilac was not laughing however. Within moments he had gone from red to vibrant purple with anger. Argella could see the messenger cower by the aggressive hostility, a sheep among wolves.

"That pretentious bastard. The nerve of him!" Argilac's voice silenced the bustling chaos. "I promise him lands and my daughter's hand and this is what the arrogant cunt offers in return. A bastard! Never will my daughter marry such a lowborn scum!"

Thundering claps broke with loud cheers.

"Penrose! Bring the rider forward." The Lord of Parchments got up, followed by three of his guards who seized the whimpering envoy and shoved him to the foot of the platform.

Argilac rose from his throne and made his way down; his heavy steps mingled the sound of his iron chainmail jingling with swish of his golden cloak.

With a click, he unbuckled his sword and raised the naked steel high in the air. The messenger's sob was washed by the waves of cheer of exited crowd.

Argella could stand no longer. Tripping and jostling through the crowd, she ran to her chamber, completely forgetting her disguise.


	10. Rhaenys

The wide gates of Dragonstone were opened before dawn broke in the Blackwater Bay. Rhaenys stood on the lofty balcony of angular Eastern tower that provided an extensive view of the coast below.

On either side of the twenty foot, heavy iron gates were two watchtowers entirely forged of black stone, same as the castle itself. Two dragon heads, the size of mammoth were carved below the columns, baring their teeth at guest's arrival. Their eyes glowed with fire at night, signalling the ships at sea.

Unlike bricks, stones and mud that built the castles of Westeros, Dragonstone was crafted out of stone liquefied by Valyrian magic. They were melt and twisted into most ornate shapes throughout the castle. Smaller dragons and gargoyles were lodged on the parapet of the towers and linking passages. .

Three nights ago ravens flew from the top of Stone Drum, each bearing call for their lesser Lords all over the east of Westeros.

The Velaryons were first to arrive. Headed by Daemon Velaryon their maternal uncle, sixteen ships answered their overlord's call. Their banner: silver seahorse on blue fluttered above their mast. Along with him came Aethan Velaryon.

Velaryons are counted as their most loyal supporters being the only other House that followed the Targaryens to the west. For years they were woven into Targaryen lineage. Rhaenys's mother herself was one. Even Corlys, the younger brother of Aethan was being fostered here by Visenya.

In the western horizon, Rhaenys spied another ship, closely trailed by three more. The early for was making it heard to recognize their sigil but as they reached the shore, Rhaenys recognized the three spirals of Massey.

Rhaenys descended down the spiraling stone, the shouts from the coast getting louder. Outside the main castle, the gust of salty sea air creeped through her silks and pricked like knives.

From the elevated ground, a narrow stone passageway ran from the here to the main gate through which their banner-men were now approaching. Inside the high walls, soft waves lapped in the sea blue lagoon; sea gulls cried around diving down suddenly to catch a fish.

Lord Triston Massey, a strong man of enormous built strode with his arms wide, one great axe hanging from his fastening around waist. Three spirals were sewn into his surcoat which flapped with the bitter wind.

Rhaenys remembered his father, the then lord of Stonedance. He used to sail to Pentos and brought back exquisite silk as gift to her. She had seen him last during her father's funeral. He held her hand as she saw fire devoured the last of her father, smoke watering her eyes.

Lord Massey had died after two turns of moon. A short bout of fever took him in the middle of the night and Triston had assumed his title as the lord of Stonedance the next morrow.

"My lady." He bowed to her. Following his stride, his entourage bowed as well.

"I trust you had safe journey." Rhaenys said as she escorted them to the central keep. They crossed the passage that led to the dungeons below and continued upwards to the great hall.

"The storm tarried us for a while or we could have arrived sooner."

At the top of Stone Drum was the hall of the Painted Table. Lanterns burnt in the dragon claws fixed to the black walls casting flickering shadows in the dim room. Four windows overlooked each direction were shut to the biting winds.

All of Targaryen banner-men were assembled in the circular room. They moved about, conversing animatedly with their fellow conjecturing about the forthcoming war. The arrival Masseys dulled the commotion.

It was no secret that though being sworn to House Durrandon, they had joined Targaryen's cause stating their closer tie. They were the only high Westerosi House among other three Valyrian and smaller houses, and first of their Westerosi ally.

On the head of the colossal wooden table carved in the likeness of Westeros where the Wall bothered the last of North, sat her husband. Beside him, Visenya sat with grim posture, arms crossed over her breast looking pointedly at the wooden box that had arrived last night in a ship straight from the Storm's End.

Rhaenys took her place on Aegon's right, between him and the Maestar. In front of her stretched the North of Westeros ruled by House Stark. The table was only carved till Fist of First Men, some miles beyond the wall. The rest, scout reported were unfavorable land of frozen woods and snow.

There were no borders however outlining the existing kingdom. They'd be one, Aegon had said.

When everyone had settled around the table, Aegon stood up to address them. He nodded at Orys who seized the box and dragged it to his end. Everyone's eyes followed his fingers unlocking the metallic fastening and yanked off the lid.

A rotten, acrid smell permeated through the air threatening to gag their senses. The lords have drawn back and was wrinkling their nose at the decaying article. Rhaenys who had been warned before pressed the sleeve of her robe to her nose.

"What is that?" One of Velaryon's men asked.

"Our messenger. The hands of our messenger, to be specific." Orys declared. The words hit them like stone hurled at them without warning. They were too stunned to speak.

She saw Orys take out a parchment from the box and passed it to Aegon. Rhaenys tried peeping over her shoulder but Aegon was holding the letter high above her. She noticed the seal of House Durrandon however. She judged it was from the Storm King himself

Her brother's jaw tightened as he took in whatever message that was and handed the letter to Visenya.

"These are the only hands you will receive". Visenya gave a harsh chuckle after reading and crumbled the message in her fist. She looked at Aegon knowingly, smirking as if it was her triumph.

As Aegon paused to think, their banner-men took it as indication to start whispering among themselves, very much like when the Maester leaves his students unattended. Some were of mind to charge to Storm's end the very moment having taken it as a grave insult. Others, more apprehensive, spoke of caution in approaching further.

"Where is their messenger, I say?" Desmond, steward to Velaryons spoke.

"Confined to the dungeon below." Their master-at-arms answered. "Would be in fetters if my lord allowed."

"We take off his head then. Pack it in this very box and send it to his daughter!"

"Aye! Aye!" His supporters cheered. Rhaenys saw Visenya stir in her seat, nodding along with their cheer.

"What say you, my lord?" Lord Massey addressed Aegon. "He had not only insulted Orys, but House Targaryen as well."

"Let him answer for the crime of his King, for wronging the family of our envoy!"

"We shall do no such thing." Aegon stated firmly.

"But my lord-" Maester began but Aegon waved him off.

"We want to unify Westeros. To show that we are better than their leaders squabbling among among each other; that we are not cruel like them. How can we expect them to join our cause if we can not be any different from the tyrants they already serve.

A battle is won by swords and blood, true. But it is the small folk that win the half of the wars."

Many heads nodded with 'ayes'.

"By Seven Gods, that be true. If we have the commoners fighting for us, their own might will lessen as our own may increase. Their division will prove advantageous to us."

"So what do we do?" Lord Celtigar asked. "With so few swords, we cannot defeat them."

"You forget, my Lord Celtigar but we have dragons on our side. What is few arrows to assault of fire?" Desmond reasoned. Celtigar glowered at him, his brows frowning at the audacity of a mere steward.

"We do not need to defeat them my Lord Celtigar in the very first battle." Rhaenys spoke out after a nod from her husband. "We need the common people to believe that we are fighting for the same cause. It is easier and more stable to win them with love and understanding, opposite of what the Westerosi lords do so they will flock to us."

"A women's touch." Arving Crook remarked stroking his extensive mustache. He was an old battle-hardened warrior serving the Masseys with jagged scar that ran from his shoulder to belly bore witness to his fighting days. "But steel is surer way. Meaning no offence my lady, but leniency and tenderness do not win the battle."

"And I agree. But I speak of enlarging our numbers and no steel shall be able to command as much as kindness of a woman can."

A soft murmur of agreement passed and Rhaenys smiled contently. Her sister had her sword to silence, she had her words.

"So all agree then, we move forward?" Celtigar asked, doubt lacing his tone.

"I think this table have answered your question." Orys ran a thumb over the the elevated curve on the Vale, where the sprouting top represented the Eyrie. "Is my lord unsure of our strength?"

"Never!" He cried as if it was the worst insult thrown his way but that did not stop others from snickering.

Aegon was observing all of them. Rhaenys looked in his purple eyes for anything that would tell her what was he thinking at the moment but as usual she resigned. As the Lords talked on, his eyes were evaluating each of their support for him, measuring their enthusiasm and calculating his steps accordingly.

"Now it is worrying of course, that we lack the strength of any other major Houses." Orys's voice boomed among the pandemonium. "Our strength comprises of traders and fish mongers who never held a spear before. They are as seasoned as the maids in field. We cannot rush into anything without prior preparation.

And there's winter coming. The maesters cannot say for sure how long it will stay, as they cannot say exactly when it will be upon us. We cannot rush off to war and leave our granary empty, as our fighters will need supplies."

"But for that you'd require half of our strength, Orys." Lord Velaryon told. "We cannot afford to let that many capable hands at home."

"We hire sail swords then." Desmond said. "There are the Second Sons and Hell riders. Even the Unsullied."

"We cannot afford the Second Sons, let alone the Unsullied. Moreover that may send the wrong message to the people. When they see mercenaries from foreign land, charging at them and uproot their homes they'd hide behind their own feudal lords.

And Dragons? They see them as creatures of doom. We cannot bring them to play until we have secured considerable number."

"We start with whatever we have and build our forces as we proceed."

"That may work very well." Celtigar pondered. "But still, what after if this works? When storm kings comes raging against our minor host, what shall we do then?"

"Fire and blood." Visenya answered.


	11. Orys

Fog loomed thick and wet over turbulent water that rocked their ship . They had the wind on their side but the river currant was against them: the mouth of Blackwater rush where the river opened into sea was whirlpool of opposing currants bred thick white foam.

The harsh winds were already biting through his surcoat and wool; even his skin beneath his leather breeches were raw from cold. Orys glanced above his shoulder. Beside the Tyroshi captain, Visenya stood, proud and commanding, her silver-gold braid whipping with wind.

Rhaenys had chosen to be in the comfort of her cabin until they reached the shore and Aegon was down below the deck, conversing with Massey. It'd be well past morrow before they reached, Orys judged.

They had sailed the day before when the light shone brightly on Dragonstone for the first time in days. The West tower glinted in rare sun, from which the ravens have burst, carrying Aegon's message to all of Westeros, Lords great and small, the Citadel and the North alike: from this day forth there would be but one king in Westeros. Those who bent the knee to Aegon of House Targaryen would keep their lands and titles. Those who took up arms against him would be thrown down, humbled, and destroyed.

Before sailing, he had accompanied them to the sept to Seven of Westeros. Orys had never accounted Aegon for a pious man. He could only reckon it was a way of him accepting all of Westeros, giving into the most common thread that bound the southern kingdoms.

The sept of Dragonstone had statues representing the seven aspects of the Seven Gods, carved from the masts of the ships that had carried the first Targaryens from Valyria.

Rhaenys lit seven candle in front of them and knelt beside her siblings. The pearly eyes of the Crone glimmered in the light, but the Stranger, who resembled an abomination from hell looked even more animal like.

And now with the Seven's blessing twenty ships lifted anchor from Dragonstone: a modest host sixteen hundred men at most, all those who were capable of wielding a sword along with stone masons and builders that they'd require in due course. Aegon had left the young boys back against Visenya's arguments. A wise decision, Orys had thought. They'd need something to fall back to.

"We are here." Visenya announced from his side. Not many could claim on creeping up on Orys but Visenya was light as air. Across the thinning fog and crash of waves came songs of birds of woods. Orys closed his eyes and let the melody engulf him.

"Land ho!"

The captain steadily pacified motion of their cog; their sail stopped fluttering and was taut against the consistent blow of wind. Behind them all other ships were coming to halt.

"A smooth sail." Visenya remarked as the crew cheered.

"Just so, my lady." Orys agreed.

In course of time, the silhouette of the three wooded hills became greener and the ruined forts that was built by lesser lords only to be demolished by others became prominent. Under them were small mud and thatch houses of fishing village sprawled along the Northern bank.

Though claimed by both Storm's End and Harrenhal, the river mouth was undefended, and the closest castles were held by lesser quarreling lords: Darklyns and Mootons, and Brackens. None of great prowess, but they had little reason to love their nominal overlord, Harren the Black. An advantage Aegon could exploit.

"Lower the boats!" Orys commanded. Several boats: small vessels of timber that were more of fishing boats than war galley were dropped on the shallow waters.

Orys led the course with twenty men of Aegon's household guards, ready to take on the first front in case of attack. From Massey's Hook came Lord Bar Emmon of Sharp Point, flying his swordfish banner.

"Any trouble?"

Orys noted the lack of 'my lord' but refrained from remarking. Men of higher rank do not take it kindly that a man of much lesser status has more importance than they'd like. He was used to it by now.

It was mile from coast to the nearest house and the villagers have gathered keeping their distance, watching the Targaryen troop land on the soft mud. Orys ordered the first troop to mark the boundaries to set up their camp. He sent a band their swiftest riders to spread out through the land. "Shoot down any bird that flies. Words cannot reach till we have secured our hold."

Upon disembarking, Aegon ordered tents to be set up and a boundary be constructed. The following day, men would start work. The soldiers will stand guard on the outpost, keeping an eye for interruption while the masons would raise straw and earth, a crude ford on the tallest of three hills to house them until they have secured the Blackwater Bay.

When dusk settled and breezed caressed his tired and sweaty cheeks, Orys heard the familiar roar of dragons gliding in the sky. From the east where the sun rises each morrow,  dragons rose, cutting through the cloud with their sharp wings, last bit of light glimmering on their scale.

Meraxes, the color of fresh cream, with his sharp sprouting horns soared past them and began to circle the sky. Following it was Vhagar, spreading her wings as he flew over them; her spinal crest a shinning bronze that flashed bright as metal in the sun.

Balerion swooped in silently diving straight from the cloud and landing on the tallest hill. A few trees uprooted and rolled down by the fan of his wings. His roar cracked like thunder, heralding his arrival to all that could here.

By their counsel, the tallest hill was named after Aegon, and the other two after his sister-wives. As all the ships came ashore, Aegon commanded his battle standard be brought forth. The Targaryens had no war banner like the Westerosis did. By his request, fabrics were sewn, worked upon by the most delicate hands of seamstresses. An effort to show that they are one of them now.

Poles were erected outside the cluster of tents where soldiers stood guard and Jallen unfurled the Targaryen banner: the three headed dragon, red upon black.


	12. Visenya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking such long break but i'm back with another chapter. thanks to everyone who had read and left kudos. you make my heart swell

Clunk. Clunk. Cluck.

The hammer fell on the wooden stake driving into the ground. A few more and they'd have their first stable made. Around it, an armory was being crafted where the blacksmiths battered on anvils and forging new blades. The palisade was already created and hosted the Targaryen army. Over the highest hill, the masons were raising walls with earth as they could not afford to raise a stone fort yet.

Visenya parted the curtain of her tent, allowing the sun brighten the musty darkness inside as well as her skin. She had been up last night, discussing strategies with Lord Massey and her husband. Rhaenys had left for Rosby the previous morning, flying on Meraxes.

It was an easy victory, she had sent word. House Rosby had barricaded their castle with the sparse men they had. They did not have to face the dragon however. After the first successful breach, Benedict Rosby had come out in his courtyard and laid down their swords at her feet.

Visenya broke her fast with salty bread and burnt ham. She did not complain. Her mind was taken up by the tingling flow of excitement in her veins of the battle that awaited her. She saw Aegon approaching her along with Orys, dressed impeccably in blood red. It made her heart swell.

"Sister."

"Brother, darling." She pushed the plate of ham towards Aegon as he sat down. "Have some."

"I already broke my fast." He informed. Orys dug in, seizing a handful.

"It is a fine weather." Orys remarked. "Should be an easy one."

"It is but word should have traveled to them by now. They must be prepared after Rosby."

"No need of concern, my love. A few arrows is nothing against a dragon." Visenya said. She was however, aware that Westerosis had more than arrows to charge with. Crossbrows have sure and deadly aim, but it was unlikely they could do much harm.

Visenya wore her armor light. The usual iron chainmails were too heavy and restricted her movement. She had a new and thinner chainmail made from steel. It provided less safety but Visenya was sure of her strike; no one could get past her blade. Over it she put on armor. Three headed dragon emboldened on the chest. Her, Aegon and Rhaenys.

Her husband and Orys accompanied her to the hill where Vhagar was basking in sun. Golden rays glinted off its moss green scale, and its bronze horn shone as bright as gold. Vhagar hummed at recognition of its rider.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Do what is necessary." Aegon said. Visenya nodded and made to walk towards her mount. Aegon held her back. "Only what is necessary, Visenya."

A familiar thrill of energy seeped through her skin as Visenya touched the heated scale. Vhagar lowered its neck to the ground. Visenya climbed on its feet first, taking care not to hurt herself on its claws. She gripped one of the smaller horns near its jaw and clambered up as Vhagar raised its head, reducing the men to spots beneath her feat.

Spreading her massive wings, Vhagar screeched and gave an almighty lurch, beating its wings to push off the ground.

 

The foot soldiers had been dispatched as soon as dawn broke on the narrow sea. Visenya found them stationed just outside the barren field east of Castle Stokeworth.

The men gave off hoots and cheers and cleared the ground for her landing.

"Has the messenger delivered our proposal yet?" She asked Jallen as soon as she dismounted.

"He has, my queen." Jallen answered falling in step with her as she approached the front.

"And?"

"They'd rather fight."

Visenya gave out a mocking laugh. "They do not know what they have challenged. But we shall give him a chance. Send our fastest rider. Tell Stokeworth I'm giving him till sundown. Or tomorrow, I shall burn down their castle, starting with it's maiden tower."

She did not have to wait till sundown. The rider came back with the Lord's verbal message: he would not surrender to a foreign woman.

She sent out their first troop consisting of a hundred and twenty men who surrounded the castle. The villagers had shut themselves in their hut, and so left alone. A hundred more joined them later, raising ladders and climbing up the castle fort. With thirty men, Jallen charged at the front gate.

It was taking longer than she had judged. Howls of pain and clash of swords reached her ear but she could not say from which side. Beside her, Vhagar was growing impatient with the smell of blood.

As the sun was already setting, Visenya mounted Vhagar once again and spurred it towards the bosom of battle.

With a whoosh an arrow shot past her. Vhagar ducked at the exact moment to avoid its rider getting hit. Then came another, missing her by few feet. They were not arrows from normal bows, Visenya realized. Their range suggested crossbow.

"Fire!" Stokeworth cried loosening a few more bolts that Vhagar avoided rising into the sky. She circled the castle for a while, using Vhagar only as a tool for scaring them to submission. But the Westerosis seemed to have a lot of spirit in their blood, more than she thought.

Just then, a harpoon came whirling at her. It hit the dragon on its neck but could not get past its impenetrable scales. Visenya charged down from the clouds.

"Dracarys!"

The incoming arrows turned to ash as Vhagar's flame devoured them all. The nearest tower lit up like a torch. Smoke as thick as ice rose mingled with wails of burnt soldiers.

Their defense broke like a twig snapped by the slightest effort. With one final roar that emitted smoke, Vhagar landed on the courtyard. It was too small for a dragon of such size and took off once it had dropped its rider.

"Where are the rest of you?" Visenya asked after counting her numbers.

"Off to town, my queen."

"Send the word. I will not allow the town to be sacked. I hear any complaint, he'll lose his head."

Jallen took her inside. The fires have not damaged much of the interior and left most of its resident unharmed. They were on their knees, weapons laid out before. Her army were picking them up and piling to a corner. They'll be carted off to Aegon.

It was a beautiful castle, much more hospitable than gloomy Dragonstone. The walls were painted blue like ocean with years of paintings hanging off. Lord Stokeworth was in his chamber, sitting at the head of his council table with only two guards by his side. Visenya told her retinue to stay back and proceeded alone.

As soon as she sat down in front of him, Lord Stokeworth took off a pin off his vest and laid it on the table without offering any word. Two arrows crossed together. Visenya's face blooms with smile at the taste of victory. 

"You have chosen well, my Lord."


	13. Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N~ And here you go, another chapter. Quick question though- do you think I am doing something wrong or maybe not living up to your expectation? Please let me know. It's better to get judgement from another eye.

Sleep did not come easy for Aegon. It was a night to be spent with Visenya. He had laid in bed for hours with heavy lids but his mind would not stop working. He turned from side to side, each position uncomfortable. He knew what his sisters would say- take something from maester and go to sleep.

He had had this problem in his early ears. His lady mother would stay with him all night, running her hands through his hair and that would lull the young lord to sleep. But she was long dead now, turned into ash from dragon fire. Instead of the soft touch of her hands, he had the maester prepare him the sleep draught.

Lately, however he had been noticing its lessening effect on him. Maybe it was his body getting used to the medicine or the stress getting better of him. To be just, he did have a lot to worry about.

The war has been in their favor. As their force gained victory, the Westerosis had no choice but to throw down their swords as the news of their victory spread through riverlands. Ravens flew in and out, forewarning the remaining houses to gather their strength.

Duskendale was the principal Westerosi port on the narrow sea and had grown fat and wealthy from the trade that passed through its harbor. Lord Darklyn was proved to be a quick minded ruler. As the words of Aegon's triumph reached his ears, together with Mooton of Maidenpool, he had raised an impressive army of three thousand men and marched south.

In the middle of revelry of their newest conquest, the Targaryen host were slacking. The watchers had abandoned their posts to join in merry making between the harsh battles. The common people, at the end of battle had welcomed their new overlords with feasts and celebration. Under their previous lords, they did not have the assurance the new King promised. The new regime sat well with them than it did before, his advisers had made sure of that. Visenya's strength won over their lands and Rhaenys won over their hearts.

They almost took the Targaryen host by surprise.

Their spy, posted on the outskirts of their camp had a hard riding when he sighted the approaching enemy. He managed to croak out the news before passing out at Aegon's feet.

Those capable of standing at least shuffled forwards with their spears. The fire of joy was trampled under battle cry, barrels of wines overturned and wasted as people ran for shelter as arrows started to rain.

They were not enough to hold off the army and Aegon himself had to rush forth to tarry the battle for next day. Come morrow, Orys rode forth astride his black stallion leading the troops. The natives were twice their numbers and with better knowledge of land, overwhelmed the invaders.

The battle had lasted till sundown.

Visenya soared above the sky and reported equal casualty on both sides. The next day was the same. Lord Velaryon took a gash on his left arm as he cut down one of the captains. Death collected his tokens equally from both side.

Beside him, his supporters fretted and frowned with dismay when Aegon announced his intent to rein back his dragons. Even the dragons had impatient being restrained from blood.

Outside his tents, only crickets buzzed and the dying fire flickered on his wall. Aegon rose and retrieved the wool cloak trapped under Visenya. She grunted in her sleep and turned to her left, soaked in the comfort of what sleep deprived him.

He walked over the rows of men lying down, huddled together for warmth. Few that stayed guard were murmuring among themselves and hardly noticed their King pass. The sky was awake. Instead of black, smoky red cloud floated and thunder rumbled in the horizon. The air was still however.

Far outside the boundary, a solitary fire burnt. In its warmth sat a man sharpening his sword. On first glance, he'd gave passed for sellsword, with conscience so bloody that the gods had taken away his peace. But closer, he saw the sea green cloak and the sea horse carved into his shield.

"My king." Colrys Velaryon greeted and gave up his sitting stone for him.

"Could you not sleep?"

Aegon nodded. Colrys was one of trainees of Visenya. She had taken him in as her ward, still a summer boy and not a man grown yet. Aegon had seen him in fight. He was quick and agile with streak of recklessness typical of his age. "Shall I fetch the maester?"

Aegon shook his head again. "You are not asleep either. Who set you on watching duty?"

"None, my king. I stay up the night before every battle. I can not rest until it is over."

Colrys did not bother him till some time. "You are going to ride Balerion today." He remarked.

"Yes." Aegon answered, eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Why did you wait so long? We could have squashed them in first battle. Our loss is greater as we have lesser number."

"Why do you think?" He turned to his Valyrian cousin.

Colrys scrunched his brows and looked Aegon in the eye. "Because we just gained the commoner's trust?"

"Clever boy." Aegon snatched up a twig from the ground and lit it with fire. "You'll find less resistance while conquering with love than hate, especially when you want to build, not turn everything to ash. 

It is crucial that we should maintain the image of leniency we created."

As anticipated, it started to rain before the drums of war sounded.

Aegon waited till he heard the clash of swords and horse whinny in the distance before he mounted his ride. Instead of headlong attack, the Targaryen army divided in two and flocked at the sides of the Westerosi army, effectively trapping them in between.

Along with the thunder that cracked across the sky, Balerion and Vhagar's screech rang through the air. Aegon could hear the moment all shields fell and all eyes turned upwards. Aegon signaled his mount to swoop down.

Few of those mighty capable of functional mind loosed crossbows. They deflected off the spines and scales on Balerion's breast. The dragon flew back into the sky and came down vertically with twice the speed before and unleashed its wrath.

The agonizing sound of burnt men echoed all around as fumes rose as high as towers. Flame so hot that the crisp burnt ashes flew into air. With thunderous flap of its wings, Balerion descended to the ground and landed in the middle of battle. Aegon did not have to dismount. The handful enemies that charged at him was slain before they could get within fifty foot of him.

Vhagar above was pursuing the scattered men. Visenya had strict orders to abstain from fight and she flew her dragon Duskendale.

As rain ceased in the evening and all fallen swords collected, Rosby turned the counts in. Both Lords Darklyn and Mooton had perished in battle along with their front line. The residual army that had run off the field had been rounded up and bent their knee to the victorious Dragonlord.

A day and a half journey north, they found the gates of Duskendale to be wide open. The posts over parapeet abandoned and the high walls bald.

Visenya had obtained surrender from the castellan of the Dun Fort: Darklyn's remaining son and Maidenpool from Mooton's brother.

As their armies filed in, hooves clattering against the cobbled streets, the windows parted, just a little and the residents poked their head out. Their eyes frightened yet curious. The many septs that sheltered the frightened crowd had now opened their doors. Visenya had not allowed the town to be sacked, rather collected its riches from the Dun Fort.

Afternoon found them assembled in the court of Dun Fort. In front of his people Darklyn and Mooton set down their scepter and bent the knee, swearing allegiance to House Targaryen.


	14. Orys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N~ I've been working on this chapter for long time but hadn't posted this cuz I couldn't fit it anywhere but now I've decided so here it is. Also, I decided I won't stop at the conclusion of the war of conquest but continue till the last of Aegon's reign.

It was two moons before all of their troops returned to the mouth of Blackwater Rush where the mud erection of Aegonfort stood. With conquest of several other neighboring castles and obtaining their submission, the Targaryen army has swelled in size. There was enough gold to finance the taxation of war.

After proof of their victory, settlements sprouted under the three hills. People from villages far away migrated over leagues lured by sure safety and promise of a flourishing city. Aegon had chosen well. Not only the lands were fertile and trade path preexisted, the shore was ideal for port that'd bring trade to the country. If executed well, it could be the closest sea port to Braavos.

Orys could see the towers rising, strong red bricks that'd raise a keep worthy of a dynasty. It provided him a sense of pride that'd he'd finally have something that he helped to build and not given. He was walking on wet bank of Blackwater, his boot leaving prints in his wake. Several children, naked and mud covered ran past him to their mother busy washing in the bank.

"How long till you finish, ma?" One of them wrapped his arms around his very irritated mother who yanked of his arm and continued to scrub the pot.

He could understand the child's enthusiasm. Orys remembered the first time he was admitted to the great hall of Dragonstone. Her mother after pleading several time had gained her first audience with the then Lord of Dragonstone. It was Visenya's name day, he recalled and the Targaryen siblings wore finer silk. Orys had thought they were gods.

She was looking for sanctuary, his mother was. His father had a nasty temper and the days he came home after a particularly rough day, both mother and son had to be utmost submissive to avoid his wrath. Lady Targaryen sympathized with her and welcomes both of them into their house hold. He had been fostered there since.

Despite being older than the young Lord by several years, Orys quickly grew closer to Aegon as his playmate and older brother. Their parents encouraged this companionship, thrilled to have found a pal for their child on such bleak island. In daytime they were inseparable, going everywhere together. Aegon used to tease him about Visenya, he recalled fondly. That was put to stop by his lady mother however.And now after their demise, he still stood with his brother and live to watch him wear the crown of Westeros. On this note, he remembered to hurry. It was only hours before the ceremony started.

When the sun shone right above their head, the small courtyard of Aegonfort was overflowing with men. Orys could see the trail of crowd coming up the hill to witness the coronation.

Orys had taken care to dress himself today. His sword was cleaned, hilt shinning and hung from his waist. He had swapped his chainmail for a red surcoat under his golden undershirt and on his neck was clasped his red cloak. A single brass brooch depicting a hand holding a dagger, unlike Aegon's dragon, embroidered his coat.

With his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, Aegon pushed through the crowd into the overcrowded hall. Everyone stood according to rank. At the very end upon a high pedestal, a wooden throne was placed and two smaller on either side of it. Before them, a temporary sept was constructed with models of the Seven. On left stood his supporters- Velaryons, Celtigars, Maaseys and Caves. In the right the defeated awaited the king's mercy. At the very back stood the common folk jostling to find a place to stand.

"Does the king really have two wives?" He heard a boy speak.

"So he can fuck one rough in the day and another sweet in the night." One quipped.

"Heathens." Somebody else muttered, not too loud. "Marrying into family, their own blood. Such abomination."

"The Gods will prevail, you'll see."

"Hush, here they come."

Aegon led his train wearing red and black, his plush crimson cape sweeping the ground. Behind him followed Rhaenys, wearing all red, rubies glinting and Visenya, wearing black robes with only hint of the crimson skirt underneath.

The ceremony began with the Septon hailing all seven Gods to bless this land. Septon Duncan was relatively younger. He had served the Masseys for some time and had assumed the role as their own septon was indisposed. Aegon knelt in front of the fire, eyes closed in prayers as the septon rubbed holy oil across his forehead.

When the rituals were over, Aegon proceeded to climb the dais. Corlys Velaryon wearing cream and white with his sea blue cloak stepped forth bearing a circlet encrusted with seven equally cut rubies placed upon velvet. It was forged of valyrian steel, something more valued than gold itself.

Visenya, Queen Visenya, he reminded himself, rose to her feet and took the circlet from her ward. All eyes were on her as she took Aegon's right and slowly and steadily set the crown on his head.

Queen Rhaenys declared, "All hail Aegon, First of His Name, King of All Westeros, and Shield of His People." It was the small folk who sent up the loudest cheers.

One by one, everyone knelt before them and swore their allegiance and loyalty, his supporter first and then the defeated former foes. Lord Mooten bent his knee first. He laid his ancestral staff before Aegon's feet and formally swore fealty to him as his King. Others followed suit.

Lastly, Aegon beckoned his maester to send forth a scroll which he handed to Visenya. As she called out names, each emerged from the crowd and bowed to his king.

"Lord Daemon Velaryon."

"Your grace." He bowed to his nephew.

"Rise, my Lord. Not only you are most capable hand in the navy but also my own blood, having provided counsel to both me and my father before my time. You watch over us like a watchful guardian, advising with your judgement. I declare you the Master of Ships. You shall command the royal fleet and continue to advise by my side."

It was a sight to see the strong battle worn man fumble for words, even though it was expected. Maybe his emotion was overwhelming him. "I- thank....I thank you, your grace. With all my heart, all....thank you. May the gods always shine above you. May they keep you in health and wealth, the Father shall defend you. The Mother may grant you many children."

"You are too kind, uncle." Rhaenys said.

Triston Massey, Lord of Stonedance, was named master of laws, Crispian Celtigar master of coin. To the lower lords and his new allies, he presented new honors. They had saved Orys for the last.

When he finally appeared before his king, Aegon got up and pulled him to his feet. In front of all, he embraced his lowborn brother and Orys knew, nothing would severe their bond.

As they broke away, Aegon proclaimed him, "My shield, my stalwart, my strong right hand."


	15. Visenya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Yall are welcome.

In the flickering light of oil lamp, Visenya was leafing through a large book bounded by goat skin- Herbs of the seven kingdoms: A compilation. There are the common ones- basil, chives, cilantro, lemon grass and parsley. And the less rare agrimony and  borage blue. Visenya was searching for one particular herb or rather herbs that possessed one specific trait. The maesters were ignorant in this particular field, having no interest in the needs of women folk.

She heard the flap of her tent being opened and the cool evening air drifted in. Visenya quickly returned to the page on chamomile that lists instruction to  brew a herbal tea.

"What is that?" Aegon asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Herbs." She replied without missing a beat. "For infections."

Aegon hummed and pulled out a chair beside her. Visenya put away the book and turned to her brother.

"Let me guess. The Dornish princess will not aid their ancient rivals."

"Not quite. She offered to lend her army, fight our wars so they may get rid of the grasp of the Reach, but as an ally. Not a subject."

"Hmm. I would never expect any less of them. They have always been a proud race." And a great challenge to be faced, she thought. "You are not going to accept, are you?"

"What do you think?" Aegon countered.

"I think those snakes are sneaky bastards maybe the only house that can pose legitimate threat as enemy as well as ally. They will use us to gain the Reach and when the spy opportunity, will not hesitate to take it over from us. Not to forget, if we alter the terms of alliance, they are fully capable of burning us to ground. We must be wary of whatever we choose to do with Dorne."

"I couldn't have listed the reasons so eloquently. Yes, you are right in your speculation. They are indeed a tricky bunch. If we send words that we will accept, rest of the houses may plead for such alliance and instead of one country, it will be the squabbling lords under flimsy governance. We cant afford to lose the reputation we have built. Westeros needs to see us as the inevitable force."

"I have to agree brother, your capability of military estimation is convincing, despite what I may have thought otherwise."

"You wound me, sister."

"How fares the financial matters?" Visenya asked after a pause.

"Rhaenys is sitting with Cave, calculating our expenditure with Orys aiding them. There is a bit of pressure to fuel all expenses but nothing much troublesome."

"I can go to the Iron Bank if you'd like. Surely, they are aware of our mission and will not turn away such an opportunity." Visenya offered.

"In time. I need you in the vale and with the current engagement we cannot spare a trip to Essos. When time permits, I will send Orys, or Velaryon to Braavos. We will need their coins to run."

Visenya gave a nod of approval but a twinge of hurt still lingered in her mind. It is childish, she chastised herself. She almost didn't feel Aegon take her hand in his. Slowly, he started to trace a circle on the back of her hand.

"Not tonight." Visenya pulled away.

Aegon looked defeated. "Have I offended you some way, Visenya?"

"None at all. I am very tired is all."

"Very well, have a good night's rest, sister."

"You too, brother."

The forest was enormous, misty, and diverse. Its canopy was reigned by alder, beeches, and ash, and rays of light bursting through their crowns allowed for a variety of ferns to cultivate the thick layer of leaves below.Bundled branches hung from many trees, and an array of flowers, which grew dispersed and sparingly, brightened up the otherwise unchanging lower level. A blend of noises, belonging to birds of prey gliding in the air and cricket's busy hum reverberated all around.

The common people have started calling it the king's wood. Fitting as it was close to Aegonfort and the growing town. It served as shelter and source of food to the common folk. In time, when the dynasty will established, generations after generation will come for sports and hunt.

Through it's heart flows the small river Wendwater originating from a lake and travels north-east and open in the Blackwater bay. It was by the bank of which where willow tree stood, Visenya had asked for Bryant to wait. She had gone to great length to find the infamous physician, taking care that no one gets a whiff of her intention.

Bryant was leaning against the said willow that bent with his weight. He was fiddling with appeared to be a flute and running his hand through his coarse black hair.

"Have you got what I desire?"

He jolts like a cat surprised. "My lady, you scared me."

 Visenya rolled her eyes. This was the idiot she must rely on.

"So, have you?"

Bryant slipped his hand under his coat and brought out a pouch. Visenya took it from him and unfastened the binding. Inside, violet flowers peeped under green.

"Pennroyal or as the Summer Islanders call it Lavender's oil. I got them from a Norvosi selling them behind a whorehouse in Braavos. Thirty pieces of silver for a fistful."

 True to her word, Visenya took out a purse of gold and threw it at him.

"Twenty?" He asked after counting.

"As was our deal. Would like a knife to the throat to please you?" Visenya snapped. Bryant bowed and tucked away the purse.

"Grind two leaves and mix it with morning tea. Take it twice for three days and stop.It is sure to cause your required desire but not without some worries. Do not increase the dose, it may kill you. Also, it can cause stomach ache, nausea, diminished vision. There is not much you can do after."

Visenya heard him patiently.

"But the most important issue is you may not be able to bear children in future. Most women choose parsley, it may not work but still safer."

"Thank you. You may go." Visenya dismissed him.

No one glanced at her with any suspicion as Visenya returned to her chamber yet she felt they were judging her. She made her own fire and heated up some water with tea. Plucking two leaves, she made made it into a paste and mixed it in the drink.

Her hands shook as she brought the cup to her lips. Her first child, it would have been. A beautiful girl that she will love with all her heart, give her everything she was denied. But not yet. 

Forgive me mother, Visenya prayed and drank.


	16. Argella

Words of Aegon's coronation soon spread throughout the land and even her father, the Storm King, could not keep those ominous, chilling whispers from infecting his keep. Servants and soldiers murmured anxiously talking of this foreign king, as capable and mighty as he is handsome, overwhelming entire Westeros with his military prowess and when asked by Argella, hurried away with eyes down cast.

Storm's End, the great castle raised by Durran Godsgrief in the Age of Heroes, stood immense and immovable atop the towering cliffs of Durran's Point. The infamous storm that raged on their shore was blinding their own archers posted on outer curtain walls. Inside, men and woman prepared for siege, stocking the granary and weapons that'd last them the war.

The men of stormland were as fierce as the storm itself and skilled in combat. Once competing against one another, vying for dominance, they were now united under one king, ready to be led to any battlefield.His father had called the banners. Connington and Dondarrion, Penrose and Estermont, even Tarth from its beautiful sapphire isles came flocking to their overlord's cause. Most notable being the men of marches. Their boys learn to wield a sword even before they can talk. Argilac had sent for them to create line of defense along the borders.

The storm that was brewing has hit their shore.

Argella is not invited to her father's council and why will she be? She is but a maiden, unversed in politics and military tactic. Her source therefore is Corren, a cupbearer to her father and often served when he is in meeting. With promise of sweets and good clothes, he offered her bits of information he acquired from their discussion.

They were stressful information indeed. Aegon Targaryen is on the march again. The king with his sizable army had marched northeast to God's Eye, the heart of Harren the Black's swelling empire that has been nibbling on their land for centuries. It was a welcome news for them if Aegon had not meant to uncrown their dynasty too.

The Targaryen fleet under some Valyrian have turned north, crossing the tides toward Vale. With them, left Queen Visenya, riding her dragon.

The remaining men comprising greater part of the host marched south under the command of Orys Baratheon. With them came Rhaenys astride her gold-eyed Meraxes to aid them against the Durrandon. Scouts reported they have entered the Kingswood and currently building a bridge across the Wendwater that will allow them to make for Storm's End.

In the midst of preparation, Argella caught her father going out of the castle grounds accompanied by few of his guards. Argella ran to him, worried that he'd do something drastic in his old age. It had started to drizzle.

"Argella!" He cried when he caught sight of her. "You shouldn't be here, lassie."

"Are you going to meet the dragon king?" She asked breathlessly, her heart beating frantically in fear.

"He's no king!" He barked. "And I've planned a different sort of welcome for that bastard."

"Where are you going then? And with so few guards?"

"You need not be concerned, sweet daughter. I'm going to check-"

"They have dragons!" She cried.

"A king mustn't cower from battle. There are invaders at our gate, planning to take down what we have built and while I live, I shall allow no such thing to happen. We do not submit to some foreign scum.But, I'll be keeping distance, if you are worried. Now go, run to your chamber. Connington, go with her. See that she's safe behind the doors."

Connington made to lead her back but Argella spoke up. "There's no need. I'll be going now. Be safe, father."

"You too, my darling. Remember our way."

Argella watched him go. He was mad, she understood, with his frailty and pride but she is all that is left of their dynasty and she won't let it perish. Not on her watch.

Her father returned some time later, assuring his plan was in motion.

Argella could not say when the sun went down, since they never saw the face of sun. As the day commenced, it only grew darker. The braziers and torches were hard to keep alight as the storms with its strong, wet touch extinguished all fire.

The women and children were huddled in the secure tower of inner castle. Argella had organized a public procession so it'd instill faith and courage in the people. She lit candles to all seven gods and sang hymns along with the septons and septas, doing all she can do to keep them calm.

 Argella anxiously stood by the window, keeping an eye out for a messenger. 

"Do you think our walls are strong enough?" She asked their castellan.

"It is thicker than that horrendous structure Harren built, I'm sure. These walls have never been breached."

"What about dragons?"

He was silent for a moment and that robbed Argella of all courage she had mustered. "As long as we stay inside, we should be safe." He said.

Argella looked back at her father, sitting on his throne, deep in thought. He is not as strong as he was. His hair turning white and muscled slack. His pride was a dangerous thing and it made her worry more.

The following day, a messenger was potted, galloping to Storm's End. Argilac ordered him to be brought forth.

The messenger appeared before and bowed. "Sire."

"What news?" Hegrowled

"The first battle is ours, my king." He said and Argella relaxed, letting go of the breath she was holding.

"We took them by surprise as they were preparing to cross Wendwater. They have cut down more than thousands of their men before they faded back into the trees. 

 Lords Errol, Fell, and Buckler distinguished themselves by charging first and taking down their line of defense and there wasn't much they could do to fight back. That bastard of his tried but-"

"They all shall be rewarded. They must hold the garrison a little longer. What about the dragons?" He interrupted, suddenly remembering.

"Perhaps elsewhere but I hear one of Aegon's wife was there. I do not know if they have got hold of her yet."

"Go announce to them: twenty pieces of gold for her head."

"I will but it is not the only news. I hear the dragonlord himself is being tested by Harren's. I hear his men attacked them on God's Eye, even beating them back. If the gods will, we hope they take care of each other without us having to shed more blood."

Argilac smiled contently."We must be prepared anyway. It won't be long before their scattered army regroup and I've always loved a good fight."

He announced a grand feast that night and even in revelry, Argella can't help but be restless. The storm isn't over yet.


	17. Aegon

The God's Eye, at the heart of Harren's empire was an enormous lake that supported the settlements around it's bank.  Being still summer, the water of the lake is blue and green; sunlight dancing on its rippling waters. When winter comes, they will turn as cold and icy as steel. Then the black swans that was swimming around the solitary island in the middle then will be there no more. 

Beyond the lake, surrounded by massive curtain walls are five monstrous towers touching the sky. The gigantic fortress of Harren Hoare that resides on the shore of God's Eye is meant to dwarf any other castle throughout Westeros. Built on blood and sweat of numerous captives he had taken during his tyrannical rule, his dream took forty years to be realized, finished not long before Aegon's ships docked the mouth of Blackwater bay.

Aegon had received a welcome typical of an Ironborn.

Black Harren's party fell upon them on Reeds, south of God's Eye and again at the Wailing Willows. While Reeds was a victory, Hoare's Ironmen wounded them at the later battle. With numerous of his men injured, Aegon fell back drawing away his army to set a camp before preparing to face Harren himself.

While they wait for their men to recover, Aegon sent out ravens through out the riverlands. And before long they flew back bearing answers of the Lords he had written. 

The first to join them is Edmyn Tully of Riverrun, a wealthy and influential House, serving as vassal for Riverlords for thousands of years. They had never vied for the throne of Riverlands but the recent offences towards them had led them to desert Hoare. Then came the Blackwoods of Raventree Hall and Mallisters of Seagard. None bearing any love for their Ironborn king and will gladly join a new regime that liberated from Harren's reign of terror. 

Following the principal lord's step, Vances, Brackens, Pipers, Freys, and Strongs, all summoned their levy and declared for Aegon. Years of plundering and oppression had it consequences for Harren. It was wise to join a powerful enemy that is sure to triumph than their losing side, especially when they have nothing else to lose. They were already being hunted by their own over lord.

As his men switched sides, Harren's formidable defense suddenly fell through. He brought all his men, those still loyal to him and sought refuge in his castle. The large gatehouses were closed and draw bridges drawn back inside. In the little time they had, Harren had accumulated whatever supplies he could and barred his gate to withstand the siege.

Once at his gate, Aegon sent Byrron, maester to Mootons under peace banner. He watched the drawbridge being lowered and the wide gates swallow his emissary. At sundown, maester Byrron came back bearing acceptance of parley.

Harren Hoare, despite his old and frail health was no less terrifying than rumors suggested. He walked in, bald head held high, mouth curved at the corner, a hint of cruelty playing on them. Aegon invited him into his tent, attended by his present lords and supporters. Harren's cloudy eyes shifted across his old bannermen's face, violent as storm.

"I expected to find a man. You-" He paused to lick his lips. "are merely, a boy."

Aegon smiled. A man so powerful seldom comes without vanity. "I am glad you agreed to come, Lord Harren. We were wondering if climbing down your enormous tower exhausted you to death bed."

Harren's jaw tightened. "You have such way with words, dragon spawn. But what about war? Would you be as capable should you take this to battlefield?"

"Then call your army and I will call my. Let us meet on the field where which one of us is superior. But you may not be glad you did."

"You dare mock me? I am older than you boy. I built an empire, twice the size of my grandfather's land with my might, not stealing away from other people like cowards do." He spat. His spit showered on the table between them. "You think you can just rush in here like the silly boy you are, demolishing all I have built over years. No. Not on my watch.

"And you-" He turned to Eddard Mallister standing closest to Aegon. "You ungrateful slime. You betray your own king for this foreign bastard? Do you think you will be any more happy when he burns you with his dragons?"

"Better burnt than skinned alive." Mallister said.

"Aye, aye." Rang all around.

Harren slammed his fist in the table, startling his own Maester, launching into fresh attack on his former allies. Aegon commanded silence from his supporters.

"Yield now," Aegon began, "and you may remain as Lord of the Iron Islands. Yield now, and your sons will live to rule after you. I have eight thousand men outside your walls.” 

“What is outside my walls is of no concern to me,” said Harren, leaning closer so he is halfway across the table.“Those walls are strong and thick.”

“But not so high as to keep out dragons. Dragons fly.”

“I built in stone,”Harren cried. “Stone does not burn.” 

Aegon paused, just enough to make sure that Harren is certain and then, in calm voice said, “When the sun sets, your line shall end.”

When the sun went down and the land was enveloped in darkness, Aegon saw from distance torches being lighted throughout Harrenhall. They twinkled in the dark like stars in the sky. He hears footstep halt behind him.

"They have raised their banners." Lord Mooton said. "Gally saw archers stationed at the parapet, armed with bows and crossbows. One of them loosed a bolt at our scout."

"So he has chosen then." Aegon said.

"It appears so, my king. He has promised land and wealth to whoever can defeat your majesty. I heard the maester said he cursed all the way to Harrenhall. He even claimed he'd marry his daughter to any one who slays your dragon, if he had any."

"He has to suffice with his sons then." Edmure muttered from his side. "A pity. None of them are half as comely as the giants beyond the wall."

Rest of his men cackled with laughter at his jest. Aegon left their company with Rosby and Stokeworth, ordering Tully to surround the castle with his garrison.

Balerion was waiting outside the woods, indulging in a nap when Aegon's horse stopped. He patted the horse and sent it off. Balerion lazily raised his horned head and blinked, exposing his slit eyes.

Aegon latched on to his scales and climbed on his back. Balerion swung his tail, uprooting a tree and spread his pitch black wings. With a huge lurch, he kicked off the ground, rising into the sky. 

"Higher." He cried, urging Balerion into the cloud. The massive beast reached such height that one would think it is just a mark on the moon. And then Balerion swooped down. Aegon felt the familiar sense of his stomach dissolving as his dragon plunged down. Closer and closer, falling through the curtain of clouds. When the great towers of Harrenhal appeared beneath him, the dragon roared his fury and bathed them in black fire, shot through with swirls of red.

Harrenhall was not just made up of stone as Harren had claimed. Balerion's hot breath lit up the wooden columns that held up the structure, resulting in the whole tower catching fire. Like huge candles, they lit up; fumes emerging from smoke along with strangled cries of burning men.

Sun rose the following morning on the deformed castle. Like candles, the towers have twisted and melted. They said it glowed red at night. Aegon forbade anyone to enter the castle grounds. Harren and his last sons died in the fires that engulfed his monstrous fortress that night. House Hoare died with him, and so too did the Iron Islands’ hold on the riverlands. 

Outside the smoking ruins of Harrenhal, Aegon accepted oath of fealty from all lords of riverland, great and small. Edmyn Tully, he declared to be the Lord of Riverrun, and Lord Paramount of the Trident. 

"They are your subordinates now" He told Edmure when other lords had sworn their sword. "Treat them as justly and protect them as you should have been under your liege lord."

"What of the castle, you grace?" Aegon was asked when he made to depart.

"It is no condition of living at the moment. I will see what can be salvaged later. When it cools down however, collect all fallen swords, be melted or twisted and send them off to Aegonfort."

"What will you do with them?"

"A throne. For a king."


	18. Rhaenys

The afternoon sky was still dense with black and grey clouds hanging; it had been raining for days now. The soft fresh musk of damp earth lingered in the air. Rhaenys breathed a lungful of air and sighed.

Orys has been gone for some time and despite her best effort, Rhaenys found herself tensely fidgeting for the warrior. 

By her feet, the singer sat working his harp to produce a sweet tune that made Rhaenys even for antsy. She had found him, a young lad of ten and four, entertaining the army. They were as kind as any drunk mob, calling out on his slight figure and teasing him for his womanish voice; some even seized him by his hand, touching him rudely. Rhaenys had him brought to her and given a place in her tent.

He had been playing for her since.

The flap of the tent parted and a bald head peeped in.

"The Hand of the King, my Queen." He announced.

Not much later Rhaenys heard the boots stomping on mud and Orys Baratheon entered the tent, head lowered to accommodate his body. His hair was wild and greasy and his attire soaked with blood. Rhaenys did not miss the way his eyes regard the boy with hostility. She signaled him to leave them.

Orys was followed by Massey, Cave and Mooton along with the chief generals. One of them bore a huge sack that had blood seeping out and tainting the ground. Rhaenys proceeded to embrace the warrior; he stank of blood and sweat. 

"What is that?"

Orys gestured the man who gave a nod and emptied the sack on the floor. Three heads tangles in hair and blood rolled to her feet.

"Ronnel, Fell and Errol." He announced.

Rhaenys covered her nose and stepped back. "Easy victory?"

"Quite. I suppose they've heard of Aegon's win. By the time we trapped them, these lords were intent to escape like they were being hunted by lion."

Words of Aegon's triumph should have all corners of Westeros by now. It puts them in a better position than few nights ago.

"Old Durrandon will shit himself when he sees a dragon." One of the generals quipped.

"I wouldn't so sure." Orys said solemnly. "He is a stubborn old fool. He wouldn't give up his seat without a fight. He is too damn proud for that. No, we have to lure him out of his castle."

In the end there was no need for luring him out.

The word of Harren's horrifying demise soon reached his nemesis's ear. He had heard of the army approaching his gate thanks to Lord Buckler who had managed to escape with his life. 

He is riding out to meet their host, their messenger informed.

"Meeting us in the open field! He is even greater fool than we thought." Massey said joyfully.

"Maybe but he still remains a formidable opponent and from what scout tells us, his number is far greater than ours." Orys argued. "We have offered his vassals to join our side but it appears they are far more loyal than the Tullys."

"We have dragons on our side. His army is no match for it."

"My dear Lord." Rhaenys interjected. "You do understand the fragile reputation we hold. Employing a dragon at the start of the battle do not send out a kind message to those still unconquered. Should we burn everything that stands in our way, there will be nothing to rule over but barren land."

Massey gave up with a nod and sat back.

"The storm's gaining strength." Orys continued. "We'd require high ground for vantage. How far away is the Storm king?"

"A days ride at most." Cook answered.

"There's hills surrounding Storm's End. One of them shall give us a strategic supremacy. We wait south of Bronzegate then, it is not far from here. Dug up trenches and wait for him. The climb will tarry his army; we could rain down on them."

"Aye. Aye."

"Rhaenys, I would require you to fly forth and give a count of their host."

"You may depend on me."

The storm took it's most violent form just before the sound of trumpet announcing the start of battle. The hills ran with muddy water, making the ground treacherous.

Rhaenys had rode out to gather their opponent's number; squalls so powerful and rain hitting her face almost made it impossible to cling onto her dragon.

Orys had surround them with his enormous army, completed with footmen and knights on horseback. He had donned his daunting metal armor, smoldering anger in his eyes and brows forming a vicious scowl. The men about him chanted his name with the bang of their shield.

"The winds against us." Cave observed, water streaking down his cheek. To aid his point, the howling gale attacked their face with renewed strength.

"We still have higher ground. They cannot hope to drive up with their horses or scale the mountains in this weather."

Orys came up behind them; he too had donned his armor.

"You should be inside my Queen."

"I'd rather remain here. Besides, I love the storm. How insignificant are we, how powerless against her wrath."

"Has our messenger returned?" She asked. An offer of submission was dispatched the morning.

"He has. And he still stands his ground."

"At least he didn't kill this one. What did he say?"

"That he doesn't intend to die as Harren did, cooked inside his own castle like a suckling pig with an apple in his mouth."

The battle began shortly. Old Argilac refused to heed his bannermen who were of opinion that they should wait out the storm. Their army took up string position on the cliffs, pointing arrows and spears on the approaching army.

Thrice Durrandon tried led his knights against the Targaryen positions, but the slopes were steep and the rains had turned the ground soft and muddy, so the warhorses struggled and foundered, and the charges lost all momentum.

They had began to relax when suddenly the stormlanders were upon them- their spearmen have stolen up silently on their foot. Blinded by the rain, they did not see their foe climbing until it was too late, and the wet bowstrings of the archers made their bows useless.

Argilac's army proved as fierce as their storm. Before her eyes, Cook was cut down. Orys rushed to hold up his defense. It was far more violent than all wars so far. Having crossed the curtain of their front-line, two armies clashed, metal clanging with metal; blood spraying out making the hills run red.

One by one, their lesser hills fell; the Targaryen defense cracked under his most brutal assault. Argilac was a beast; his old age had not affected his warring ability, Rhaenys shuddered to think how ruthless he must have been in his youth.

"Fall back!" Someone cried amidst the howl of battle. "Fall back in."

With one final effort, they broke in their defense. Argilac's generals roared in victory which soon turned into terrified cries of fear when they came upon Rhaenys astride Meraxes. Targaryen army immediately cleared and taking up position behind the formidable dragon.

"Dracarys." She commanded softly. Meraxes took a huge breath and unleashed her fury.

Their vanguard went up in flames, the lustful fire devouring the flesh immediately sent out echo of men's pained screech; smell of burnt flesh wafted through the air. Argilac was thrown off saddle, his personal knights found no escape either. The warhorses panicked and fled in terror, crashing into riders behind them and turning the charge into chaos.

"Yield." Rhaenys commanded.

"Never." Durrandon cried taking on half a dozen men at once, as many corpses at his feet. His helmet was gone, revealing his graying hair soaked in blood and rain.

"Stand back." Orys commanded when he came into the center. He dismounted, so as to meet the king on equal footing.

"We offer you a final chance Durrandon. Throw down your sword and swear fealty and you can live rest of your days in the comfort of you castle, see your daughter marry off to respectable houses."

"My daughter shall never marry the likes of you." The old warrior yelled. "Now come on you cunt. My blade thirsts for your blood."

So they fought; Orys refused all intervention as he went against Argilac. The old man was considerably weakened but still managed to block most of Orys's blows. Both men took hit, blade slicing their skin. 

"Yield now." Orys cried as he stepped aside and hit Argilac with his shield. Durrandon fumbled on his footing.

"Not as long as I live-" Orys grunted and drove his sword through Argilac's chest. Argilac's last cry was subdued, his lips trembled, "-you fucking invaders."


	19. Argella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no show here is the latest chapter. Thanks for all those who had stuck around to read this terrible rendition of Aegon's conquest. I tried.

Argella stood by her window day and night, looking out for any horses galloping towards Storm's End. She had foods brought to her and maids attending to her needs. "Rest, Princess." They said.

"Not until father comes." She replied not taking her eyes off the horizon.

The storm that wrecked the lands for days had ceased and often the sun would wink from the clouds. Whenever a little ray of light struck the pale stone walls, Argella would cling onto it like she clung to her diminishing hope. Worry was hammering constantly in her bosom but she cannot break down, their men looked up to her for courage.

Before the dawn when the sky was just turning rosy, Argella was woken up by her attendants. She dressed quickly, forgetting her fatigue immediately and ran down the castle with rest of the household. 

"Princess-" The chief steward began Areglla ignored him and advanced towards Penrose who awaited their men. Soon their banner appeared, blood stained and torn, led by Connington whose visor was gone and a red gash ran from his left eye to chin. The men behind him were worse- some limping, missing limbs, eyes blinded and the most ghastly being the half burnt men crying with anguish.

Argella did not have to wait for them to know. 

"Bar the gates." She commanded. She had to be strong, she will mourn her father later. "Pull up the drawbridge. No one enters the castle ground."

After Argilac's fall, their army lost all heart. They left them in the battlefield along with their weapons. Men of Stormlands were never to cower from fight yet Argella saw in their eyes, their spirits beaten to pulp, pure fear blackening their eyes. Fear of fire and extinction.

The Targaryens were quick to arrive at Storm's End. Their red and black banner flew all the way to the shoreline. Trenches were dug and camps set up, blocking all entries for supplies. And worst of all, like nightmare, the great dragon flew over their head casting eclipse.

Soon Queen Rhaenys arrived at their door seeking parley.

Argella climbed up the stairs of the dais and seated herself on the throne her father sat only days ago. It was cold, hard and uncomfortable. King Argilac had worn his crown to battle; it was probably lying in mud somewhere, like the king himself is.

The youngest Targaryen sibling was astonishingly fair and elegant. Typical of Valyrians, she had silver gold hair that went down to her hips; unlike her older sister, her face was comely and possessed an air of gentleness and serenity. She wore no armor over her red silk, relying entirely on guards flanking her side.

Argella mustered all her strength, trying to channel Argilca's stoic firmness and commanded, "Speak."

In reply, Rhaenys offered her a disarmingly tender smile and approached towards her. The palace guards immediately formed a wall between two queens, pointing out their spears. Rhaenys smirked at them.

"We offer you the same as we have done before. Lay down your weapons and open the castle gates, and all of you will be pardoned. You will live on with your family, keep your lands and titles. Surrender and join us in our new world."

A hush fell over the crowd. They are all considering their options, Argella read in their eyes, forgetting their own strength and pride.

"You have made your offer and now I must decline. We are not that weak that we would submit to some foreign invader our centuries of pride like it were some coin to be traded for few more shameful days of living.

"Your king has made a promise that he will burn us down those who choose to oppose him. I will make you this promise, all defenders of Stormland will fight for their land, give their life for hers if need be. Till the last man standing. You may take my castle, but you will win only bones and blood and ashes."

Queen Rhaenys heard her words with unfazed indifference. "You truly are your father's daughter." She said, no hint of mockery in her tone. "But you do not need to perish like him. Surrendering for the lives of your men is no act of cowardice but nobler than leading them to slaughter."

She turned to the entire court and addressed them. "We do not wish to spill blood, and we regret the lives we took in battle. You have seen what happened to Harren. Why end your lives for sure defeat when you can live on by our side? We only ask you to swear fealty to House Targaryen and unite the kingdom under one firm ruler."

After the Targaryen Queen left, Penrose and the steward approached her with clasped hands.

"My lady- er Queen. Perhaps we should consider their proposal."

"You have heard me refuse. I will not take back my words." Argella said firmly and descended.

"But my Queen, the walls will not hold. You have heard what happened to Harren the Black. Harrenhal was far more heavily built than ours is yet his castle was melted like wax along with all inside it."

"Do you forget our history, my lords? Storm's End has stood for centuries, unrelenting in face of gods' wrath. Do you truly think the storms fury is gentler than a dragon's? But I shall talk to Connington, seek his counsel. In the meantime hold yourself steady."

After a long, tense day, Argella was drifting off to sleep when her maid came wake her up.

"My queen?" Zoya's voice was urgent.

"Mm?"

"My queen, you must get up. Quickly."

"What is the matter Zoya?"

"They are coming my queen. You must hurry. I know a way-" She began tugging her by her night robes.

"What are you talking about? Zoya-"

Just then, the door of her chamber was banged open and Connington arrived, wearing a bandage over his face, a great many of their soldier behind him.

Argella quickly wraps herself with bed sheet to save her modesty. "What is the meaning of this?" She asked sharply, glaring at them. "My lord Connington?"

Connington did not respond to her but turned and commanded. "Take her."

Two men walked over to her holding up heavy chains and Argella gave out a terrified yelp, backing away. "No." Zoya shouted and stood between the queen and the rebels. They caught her by her hair and threw her down to the floor.

Argella cried out hysterically as she was bounded by shackles, the men dragging her by whatever part of her they could get their hands on. Her shawl was gone and much of her robe torn away revealing her naked shoulder; she begged and cried to be let go, to let her keep her modesty but when did men ever think about women's dignity?

All of castle was alive with chaos and raucous laughter. The gates and windows were wide open.

"What have you done?" Argella cried when she spotted Penrose who looked away.

"Gag her." She heard him say and soon she was being fed with a cloth.  Her legs have given away and she was being dragged across the floor. Some men and women with grave face, were looking down on the turmoil below, watching the queen being manhandled, eyes full of pity. Argella hated them the most.

The stormlanders raised the peace banner and lit up torches, marching into the dragon's den. Shouts and slurs rang around her, Argella shut them out. 

In a haze of events, Argella found herself inside a tent, quite spacious and grand. Looking ahead, she found a man, as large as mountain with shaggy beard and twinkling that looked unnaturally sympathetic.

"Leave." He commanded as her rose behind the table, head grazing the tent. His voice was loud and terrifying and the stormlanders scurried out without wasting any time. 

Argella lowered her eyes and tried to crawl away from this giant of a man but the chains were too heavy. This was the man, the Conqueror offered her hand in marriage to. This monstrous, abominable ogre. His footsteps were loud and heavy, stopping right before her.

When she felt his hand tugging at her chain, Argella cries out fearing the pain he will inflict on her, she was a war trophy after all. But soon she realized he was only removing them. When the last of them fell to the ground with jingle, Argella looked up him in confusion. 

Orys Baratheon took off his own cloak, a black, supple skin and wrapped it around her. Despite her being so exposed, he kept his distance and offered her his hand. Argella accepted him and tried to raise herself but her legs were too weak. Orys then placed his arm around her waist over the cloak and supported her to her feet.

Once she was seated, Orys filled a goblet of wine and held it to her lips. With her mouth being too dry and throat raw from screaming, Argella sipped the liquid gratefully.

For a time they did not speak. As the fatigue drained away from her body, Argella finally faced the man properly. Being this close, he wasn't that terrifying but rather sensitivity bound by firm casing. His voice is low and sympathetic when he told her about her father's courage and his prowess in field. Argella listened without a word.

"My lady, I apologize for what you had to go through. Your men had no right to do what they did. They had none of your courage and did not deserve all that you have done for them. I swear to the Mother I will see that they are punished.

Argella did not care what will happen to them. "What about me?" She had nowhere to go.

"I do not want to make you feel uncomfortable nor will I pressure you into anything. You are far too lovely and pardon my boldness, unworthy as I am, will you marry me for I have fallen in love with you?"

"I might as well. What have I left to lose?" She said bitterly.

"My lady you will not do anything you do not want to. Your home will remain as your own. I give you my word, your values, your words, your sigil will not die. With your permission, I'd like to find home with you."


	20. Visenya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long vacation but here's the next part. Hope you guys enjoy.

As Aegon was asserting dominance over the extensive riverland and Orys had obtained the surrender of stormland aided by Rhaenys, the Targaryen fleet under the command of Daemon Velaryon sailed north from Dragonstone. With them went Visenya, aboard the Seafarer, the largest war galley in their fleet. They were flanked on all side by smaller vessels that watched out for possible attack.

The tumultuous rage of water churned with white, frothy foam and rocked their ships like a baby in crib. A strong wind blew from east that made Visenya's braid whip as she held on to the rails. The narrow prow of the ships cut through slowly diminishing fog as the sun rose. They must be in Bay of Crabs by now.

The Vale of Arryns was a natural fortress with its wearing geography of rising valleys and jagged mountains. Visenya was under no false illusion. She knew that piercing through the Vale's defense was no easy task. The Mountain of the moon were dense  with woods and impassable, infested by savage mountain clans. The Eyrie itself was renowned for its impenetrable defense- situated at the peak of mountain, thousand feet above the valley, its beauty rivals that of Highgarden in the south. Even if the manage to cross the Bloody Gates, the climb upwards the waycastle was impossible.

Safe inside the castle was the boy king Ronnel under the guardianship of the Eyrie's finest knights and the queen mother and regent, Queen Sharra of the Vale. She had been a famous beauty in her youth which had faded with age, Visenya saw from the portrait she had sent with her marriage proposal to Aegon provided that he names her son the heir. But mistaking her as just a pretty woman will be a grave mistake- she had suppressed a rebellion against her son in her own soil and commands the loyalty of every last knights of Vale. Visenya admired her strength; in her later years she is what she aspires to be- as strong and influential. She only needed to continue wearing the hide that shielded her from biting insults a little longer.

As much as she believed she was above caring what people felt about her, Visenya was actually aware of how great their hatred for her was. She was the blood of the dragon, as much of warrior as her brother is with even bigger claim to the thrones yet she has to make twice the effort to remind men that she was by no means beneath them. It made her powerful to be feared, it is all she ever knew, but sometimes, especially when she saw a child caressing her sister or a flower thrown Aegon's way, a piercing ache tore through Visenya. From her childhood she had fought too hard for love or respect and missed out the touch of affection. She never received them and instead substituted them with fear she got.

The only person that did was her father. Visenya remembered him, standing in the balcony as she spurred below. Her brother did too, at least when they were young. Visenya loved Aegon unconditionally- he was her apprentice, her partner in crime. She missed him. The Aegon now was the mighty dragonlord, the Conqueror and Visenya feared she had no place by her side. She watched the way he looked at Rhaenys; he'd never look at her that way. She did not care about romantic love, she was robbed of that a long time ago- she just wanted to be appreciated. As her husband Aegon owed her that.

The thought of Aegon reminded her of her mission and she forced to rein her wayward thoughts. She was no wailing maiden- she had to seize anything she wanted and she will.

They land in the shore of gulltown, anchoring the fleet just where the water started to get shallow. Smaller boats rowed the troops to shore and they they spread out to set up their camp as evening pulled down the veil of dusk.

As soon as they were ready, Visenya called for war council with Velaryon, Massey and lesser lords to discuss the direction of approach.

"We take the high road, crossing the pass between Redfort and Ironoakes. It led straight west to the Bloody Gate. We have to be wary- the mountain clans are particularly ferocious an they know the land better than we do."

"Aye, aye."

"But what after we reach the Bloody gate? That battlement is damn near impossible to breach!" 

"We can melt it down." Cave suggested. "It will at least crack if the fire isn't hot enough."

"It is dragon fire, Cave. It can melt anything. It is what comes next that worries me. Soldiers will be stationed at Gates of Moon. The higher ground will give them advantage and we do not have enough men to storm the gates. I advise we hold fast till I write for more men while we try to undermine their strength."

"But how? Sunderland of Sisters may have renounced their loyalty to Eyrie but they wont provide much aide. Perhaps we should do as our King did- fly dragon over the mountains and burn."

"Not if there is another way." Said Visenya. "I know it is a much easier way but you heard your King. We avoid bloodshed as much as possible. Let us adjourn for today. We shall discuss more in the morrow. Colrys, send a raven to my brother that we require more men."

"Yes, your grace."

With the aim of retiring early, Visenya sent for supper before the night intensified. Fatigue had rendered her body paralyzed. She was in the middle of tearing the flesh of a wild rabbit when Colrys stormed inside the tent.

"My queen" He wheezed. "We are under attack." 

Fastening her armor and retrieving Dark Sister, she followed Colrys out. The entire beach was in uproar- taken by surprise, men fumbled and ran to grab weapons, abandoning their post. Rings of smoke rose amidst the howls of war cry. Many got stamped in hurry; Visenya herself collided with many until she came upon Aethan Velaryon.

"Where is the attack coming from?"

"The sea, your grace. They have surrounded out fleet."

And true enough, the horizon burnt like torch in night like Valyria in its smoking ruins. The masts of ships burnt like candle and cry of people rang throughout. It called out to Visenya like a song. They were soon joined by other lords in as much preparation they could be expected to. Desmond sounded the war-horn calling for all soldiers to assemble.  

"How did they acquire so many ships so quickly?"

"Some are Braavosi ships, your grace. It appears they knew and prepared for our arrival."

Daemon Velaryon led the main host to their defense while Massey stayed ashore to guard the beach. Many of the enemy ships have started to land on the beach and both sides clashed immediately.

"Be careful uncle!" Visenya shouted to the Lord Admiral as she drew her sword and engaged in battle. The surrounding was too serene for such vicious fight- moonlight glinted off their metal helmet and blood spurted like ink. Visenya's blood danced with the song of blades clashing and jingle of her chain mail. The sound of men's cry swallowed that of waves.

The first few fighters she cut down easily- all she had to was to step aside and bury the sword in their back. Soon they were replaced by experienced knights who danced the steps of the battle. It was exhilarating the way they studied each other's move- she had to understand what each step meant and how her opponent plan to take her. 

The movement of the Braaavosi however were fluid-like- their blades moved like flick of snakes tongue. Visenya found it hard to keep up and had to rely on her instincts completely. She got hit a few times, some very close but she managed to stay afloat.

On and on the battle raged. In the background the ships cracked and hissed as it sank in the narrow sea; their armies had started to fall back. Visenya saw no choice and mounted the nearest horse.

The smoke spread through much of the bay; the fire lustfully devoured the strong woody hull of the ships. The rings of smoke choked the life out of those who were aboard if they haven't already been charred in flames. The crackle of fire were augmented by cheers of the Arryn fleet. They were so engrossed in their victory they did not notice the dark figure of dragon descend from the cloud.

"Dracarys." Visenya's voice thundered.

The war galleys burned in a sea of red, yellow and orange and the cries of the people echoed into the night. Soldiers and knights watched as the flames ripped their way through the sails, tendrils of smoke reaching desperately into the sky, as if reaching for Vhagar who flew back and forth, lighting the blazing inferno below.  

In the morrow, when Visenya walked across the battlefield to inspect the damage, dead bodies laid in dirt and dust, baking under the indifferent sun. Remains of camp and fire put out were scattered throughout the beach. A third of their ship has been sank and much of their army slaughtered. Many were captured and taken back to Eyrie. Those that remained were being tended to.

Visenya stopped at the large cluster. In the middle of them was an old man's body- charred and the hilt of sword melted into his hand. Daemon Velaryon died holding a sword. 

 


	21. Aegon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update. I intend to complete this but my exams are fucking up everything. Enjoy.

Even after days of burning down Harrenhal, one could still see red glow under the stones. The walls had crumbled; the thick beams of the castles that remained were blackened and charred from where the flames had licked at them. The ruins were still smoking, the faintest glow of embers lit up in the night like volcano. Nothing had escaped the fire- the towers were gone, the metal base of the grand chandelier lay blackened and twisted on the ground.

It was necessary, Aegon understood that. No victory ever came without cost, yet he wondered if this was worth his dreams. The dynasty he was building, would his successors preserve them? Would they continue his legacy? He wondered if his spirits would linger to see what becomes of the empire he is building. Like the ancient weirwoods, silent and all seeing, he'd watch them forever.

They were in the riverlands; his army had camped near the God's Eye. It provided them with water and food was supplied by the riverlords. They had occupied a ruined castle, put to torches many winters ago. It's ancient stones were chipped off and the door splintered. There were five or six rooms in total that were habitable; not enough to house ten thousand men so most stayed in camp around it.

In the dusty hall, filled with cobwebs and ghosts of burnt men, Aegon Targaryen sat with his council. There was Lord Tully, the Lord Paramount of the fertile Trident and his sworn banner-men- Blackwoods, Drarrys, Freys, Mallisters. His own men sat with their new allies discussing the strategy against the approaching army of unified force of Lannister and Gardener.

Unlike their competitions, House Lannister and Gardener recognized them as their common foe. They understood what they have to do to survive and put aside their squabble in favor of a common cause. Both great Western kings, Mern IX of House Gardener and Loren Lannister met at Goldengrove of House Rowan and unified their army- fifty five thousand men strong among them five thousand mounted knights and hundreds of Lords great and small.  

"Our Iron fist." Mern was reported to boast. With host so large, they were heading north-east. Between them lay veld full of tall grasses and farming fields.

"We do not have sufficient strength, nor enough time." His men worried. "For every men we have, they have five." And much of them new allies, their loyalty untested.

"Good thing so we may move faster then." Aegon said. He awaited Visenya who was at Crackshaw Point obtaining surrender. Rhaenys was by his side, lively and fair as always. She and Orys had bought a significant portion of land to their kingdom. Argilac's daughter whom Orys has claimed as his wife, remained at Storm's End, guarded by Targaryen troops.

"We wait for them in the south of Blackwater. We will have an open field."

"But your grace, we will not have the higher ground. In that case, our enemies will have advantage and they already have five times our number."

The door of their council was suddenly opened and a messenger came in announcing Visenya's arrival. No sooner than he had announced her presence, Visenya strutted through the door as powerful and confident as the day she was given Dark Sister. 

"Sweet sister." He kissed her hand.

"My beloved brother." Visenya embraced him and proceeded to greet her sister. "Darling Rhaenys."

Through the corner of his eyes, Aegon could see the men in the room had visibly sunk into their seats- his elder sister was that much intimidating. She looked formidable as always; her armor was removed but she wore riding breeches which looked as if they were cut out for women. Silk robe or chainmail- Visenya looked extraordinary in both.

 "Aethan." She stopped before Daemon's nephew and the successor of the seat of Driftmark. "My condolences for you and your family. I would congratulate you for being taking the lordship if it were under different circumstances."  

"Is all done with Uncle's funeral?" Aegon queried as his sister sat down next to him.

"With as much care as you'd brother, I assure you. But this is no time for mourning. Pray continue my lords. How are we looking?"

Aegon dismissed them soon. Visenya's victory called for a celebration which he entrusted Rhaenys with. A celebratory feast is the best way to instill hope and courage in them; they'd know this was what they were fighting for- the ample food, never ending music and merry making.

He was in the middle of conversation with his chief vassals when he noticed Visenya join the feast. She wore a green robe- the color of wet leaves after shower- that complimented her porcelain skin. All the men would have fallen to her feet if she weren't so frigid.

She joined them at their table, acknowledged all the lords and looked around, her violet eyes searching for someone.

"Orys isn't here. Where is he?"

"He has gone to Braavos to deal with the Iron Banks."

"So soon? Why?"

He had to. The men in trenches talk and words spread like wildfire. He had known Orys had a weakness for Visenya; he wasn't sure if Visenya was aware of it but a rumor like this was fodder to the hungry who'd tear them with anything they can get. Having two wives, both of whom were his sisters had not warmed the population; accusing one of them of infidelity was the last thing they need. Yes accusation, Visenya saw it in her husband's eye.

"He is like our brother." He said.

"And I'm your sister. Did that ever matter?" 

There it was again, the ancient contest to see who'd prevail. The tension was broken by the appearance of their sister who exclaimed, "There you are. Come my love. You must give your speech."

Aegon began by dedicating everything to Visenya for her recent conquest; she didn't stay to hear rest of it.

The day was dry, a little windy but no clouds in the sky that threatened a storm. The abundant sunlight was roasting the wheat in the field and the men in their armor alike. South of the Blackwater Bay two armies met on the firm ground. Before them lied open field of tall grass; ideal for horse and Lannisters and Gardeners had many of them.

At the first sound of war-horn, the first line of the Western lords rode forward- they meant to sweep around them from sides, flank the rear and with their 'iron fist' break through the Targaryen center. With Loren Lannister in his right and Oakheart to his left, King Mern charged.

 "Get into formation!" Cried Jon Mooton who had been entrusted with the command of the force. "Shield up! Spears out!"

The rhythmic march of troops made dust rise like yellow storm.

"Archers to your mark!"

"Knock your arrows!"

"Draw."

"Loose!"

Astride his golden stallion, King Mern himself led the charge; his son and heir Gawen beside him bore the banner- a green hand upon a field of white. With tremendous force, the Gardeners and Lannisters charged through a storm of arrows, sweeping away the Targaryen spearmen, shattering their front line.

No one saw them rise, nor did they notice what death trap they had walked into. The dry blades of grass and wheat went up in flames as soon as the three dragons breathed fire. Was it what the seven hells look like? Aegon thought. He had sent up so many men in flames, he should get used to the smell but he never did; they smelled like burnt flesh of bird. The apart from blinding, smell of smoke made the destriers panic. Those that tried to get away were cut down by Mooton's men.

Five thousand men perished that day, four from flames, one thousand from steel. Another ten thousand wounded. All of House Gardener died in field, as did many of his vassals. Aegon lost a hundred at most on their side. Their swords were strewn over the field of dead upon which the dragons fed themselves.

"Gather them all and sent them downriver." He commanded.

Visenya had taken an arrow to her shoulder. She laid in fever under the care of maester. They had extracted the tip and patched her up with disinfectant.

"Will she be okay?" Aegon inquired.

"There's no need to pretend brother." Visenya sneered. "You never cared anyway."

"You never learnt to perceive me truly sister."

Loren Lannister was captured the following day. He bent the knee, did homage to the Dragonlord and Aegon, true to his promise, lifted him to his feet and conferred the title of the Warden of the West.


	22. Rhaenys

The extensive quagmire called the Neck was a treacherous plot of swamp inhabited  by all kinds of reptiles, poisonous insects and crannogmen, led by Reeds of Greywater Watch. There was a narrow causeway that went through Moat Cailin- it was the sole path for anyone endeavoring for the North. Leading an army would perilous for they would be susceptible to attack from any direction; not to mention the trees of the bog are partially submerged and covered in fungus, and beneath the water, quicksand will drown anyone who ventured in the waters.

"It's a good thing that Torrhen Stark had crossed the Neck rather than waited beyond the bog." Visenya said. "The terrain is unfamiliar and dangerous. It's too vast and harsh for us to conquer traditionally. I wonder how anyone survive there in this cold. They must have heart of ice."

"You should feel right at home then." Rhaenys quipped to which her sister glared.

Even after their victory against Gardener and Lannisters, their conquest of west remained  incomplete, so Aegon parted from his sister-wives and marched at once for Highgarden to secure its submission before anyone else, especially the Dornishmen, could seize it for their own.

He arrived at Highgarden to find the castle in the hands of Harlan Tyrell who had been left in charge as their Lords waged war against the Dragons. Aegon was quick to read this ambitious and opportunistic scion of Gardeners' vassal and dangled in front him the luscious offer of Lordship. One parley later, Tyrell was quick to lay down his weapons and swore allegiance to House Targaryen. Aegon, true to his words, promoted him from the castellan of Highgarden to its master and conferred the titles of 'Warden of the South' and 'Lord Paramount of the Mander'. 

In the absence of the King, the two queens were left to prepare for rest of the conquest. In south remained Dorne and Oldtown while Sharra Arryan held sway in northwest. Their submission was must before all three of them march to Oldtown and Dorne. But then the northern sky darkened with ravens bearing news of Torrhen Stark's arrival, leading an army of savage Northmen thirty thousand strong. The King in the North had already crossed the Neck and entered the riverlands, intent to bring the battle to them.

"Send word to Edmyn Tully to call all his knights and lords. Lannister as well and all those who have bent the knee." Aegon wrote back. "We regroup at Harrenhal."

Such arrangement would take days but Rhaenys knew what her lover's intention was. An army of that size amplified their formidable reputation in the aftermath of Harrenhal and the Field of Fire.

Aegon at once started toward north, racing ahead of his army on the wings of Balerion, the Black Dread. The great dragon joined its fellow dragons in the sky as Aegon landed in their camp along with Lord Tyrell and Lannister.

"How far are they?" Asked in the war council.

"A day's ride from the Trident." Lord Tully informed them.

Rhaenys observed her husband hum in good humor, working out strategy silently in his mind. "Station your men along the lines of Trident then. Dig up trenches, just in case they should decide to show their 'Northern valor' but do not provoke them. Do not let them cross either."

"Then what?"

"Then we wait."

Soon the King in the North arrived at the banks of the Trident, to find a host of forty-five thousand men-Riverlords, westermen, stormlanders, men of the Reach ... all flying their sigil and above them, the three headed dragon flew, red upon black.

Immersed in the warmth of her bath, Rhaenys was lost in thought. Her handmaiden- Anysa continued to prattle which Rhaenys had long since blocked out as she scrubbed her porcelain skin. All of a sudden she saw the flap of her tent lift and Aegon Targaryen came in, a warm smile lighting up his otherwise gaunt face- the smile of a lover upon making through every danger to see his beloved; just like when they were child and played hide and seek in the caves of Dragonstone.

"I gave a firm order to my guards not to let anyone in." Rhaenys said as Aegon ambled towards her. His hands replaces Anysa's and pulled her neck back to kiss her and Rhaenys angled her head to deepen it.

"A flimsy barrier for the lover."

"How valiant of my knight." She cupped his face. "You must be rewarded for your endeavor. Tell me handsome knight, what do you desire most?"

"To drink nectar from your hand, goddess."

Rhaenys giggled at his flattery and drew him in for a kiss. Aegon detached herself and appeared by her side. Stripping off his tunic, he dismissed Anysa and climbed into the bronze tub. Rhaenys moved forward to let him settle behind her back so that she could lean back to his chest; much of the water overflowed as he took up the volume of water.

"What is this?" He asked brushing the golden paste off her skin.

"Sandalwood."

"They smell nice." He whispered and kissed behind her ears. It made her center quiver with excitement. Aegon however made no attempt to touch her there and instead proceeded to take off the pins that held her hair in place. It fell into water like autumn leaves. He took his time admiring her locks, her spotless skin, the crook of her neck as he peppered feathery kisses on them. Rhaenys hummed softly and reached for his manhood behind her. Aegon swatted away her hand abruptly.

"Let me take care of you." He whispered in her ear but it didn't fool his lover. When faced with particularly troublesome situation, Aegon often devoted entirety of his affection towards her to take his mind off what ailed him at the moment.

"What is it my love?"

Aegon did not respond right away but pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her naked torso. "Aegon?"

Her lover cupped her breasts and fondled them delicately, rolling her aroused nipple between his fingers. Rhaenys whined as the fire between her legs ignited, bringing all her senses alive. "Ae-Aegon?" 

" _Nuha jorrāelagon_."

**My love.**

" _Kostilus_."  She whimpered.

**Please.**

" _Umbagon_." The husky tenor of his voice quaked through her. Releasing her right breast, his hand started to advance downward to her sex. As he cupped her mound, Rhaenys suddenly stopped him.

" _Daor_!" She said, turning to her lover. "Skoros kessa ao daor ivestragon nyke?"

**What is it you do not want to tell me?**

"It is nothing to burden you with." Aegon replied.

Rhaenys sighed. "Father, Smith, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Stranger. I am his as his as he is mine. That means all of you my dear husband, your joy and your worry. Half of them are mine to bear."

"Aye. A wife never fail to remind one's vow." He chuckled. "Visenya and I had a disagreement."

"That isn't odd."

"It is not but in magnitude, it was worse than our usual fallout."

"What is it about?"

"She thinks we should maintain our own army. Demand our lords to provide us with men who only serve us; who is always prepared for war."

"Like the Unsullied?"

"That is the same example she used. It isn't the proposal that worries me as much her disposition. I believe she fears she is drifting away from us. That may be why she wants to secure permanent support."

"I did not know." Rhaenys confessed. "Have you tried to talk to her?"

"She threatened to pluck my eyes out if I should try again." He said dryly. 

"That sounds like her."

"She had always been temperamental, our sister."

The Targaryen camp set up some miles away from the Trident was crowded by all of Aegon's council, discussing strategies as they awaited their messenger who had gone to deliver the offer of parley to King in the North.

"Did they accept?" Lord Celtigar questioned when the lad got off his horse.

"They have neither confirmed nor rejected our King's proposal, my Lord."

"Shouldn't you be waiting till they have come to a decision?" Mooton asked pointedly.

"Yes my lord but I was turned back at the gate of their camp."

"I do not see why. Stark has about thirty thousand men. If he wants he can easily cross the Trident. I for one would like a good fight." Tarly said.

"Lives will be lost." Aegon said.

"As it does in war. Our men have come all the way from Hornhill. It'd be tragic if they came for nothing."

Some of the Lords exchanged tensed glances at the sheer audacity of Tarly. Rhaenys was amused while Aegon remained impassive and Visenya as always looked ready to cut off his head.

"Tell me my lord, wouldn't it be more tragic for the wives that will be widowed or the child that loses father? Are your women not happy that you were spared in the war?"

"I- yes of course my lord."

"Then you know why I offer peace first."

At midday, a band of riders flying the grey direwolf on white field galloped towards their camp. 

The man leading them wasn't the King in the North however. With him came three maesters.

"State your name." Aegon commanded as he was brought before him.

"I am Brandon Snow." He announced. "I have come to treat on behalf of our King  Torrhen Stark."

"A wise decision." Aegon remarked.

"Hmm. I saw half your army at the bank of Trident. A colorful bunch of southerners." 

"You are your King's bastard brother, are you not?" Orys questioned.

Brandon Snow turned stiff. "Yes."

"At ease. I will not take you as hostage for leverage as you fear. Come. Let us parley."

At sundown he left having promised to convey their terms to the King in the North. Throughout the night messages were exchanged between two camps.

"Do you think they will surrender?" Lord Lannister asked Aegon who smiled and looked Visenya, instructing her to answer.

"It is as likely as they might retreat beyond the Neck. His lords will urge him to wait for us in Moat Cailin if they are intelligent. If not, proud as these Northmen are, they may charge at us. Either way there destruction is unavoidable."

The following morning, a sole rider crossed the neutral land. Torrhen Stark was much older than Aegon with coarse brown hair and weather beaten face. Unlike the southern men, he wore light leather having survived harsher winter than they ever did.

Aegon rode forward to meet him, astride his destrier. His queens and council watched from distance as did the three dragons circling the sky. North of the bank, Stark's own men held their breath.

The two kings exchanged salutation first; fire meeting ice. Sometime later they saw Stark reach for his crown- the ancient crown of the Kings of Winter and laid at Aegon's feet, kneeling to confirm his submission. He rose as  Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, a king no more.


	23. Visenya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may find the later part of this chapter familiar. I had to edit it cuz I fucked up the timeline of events.

A little away from the village by the shore of God's Eye was a forest, almost as large as the 20 acres of Harrenhal's godswood. The forest was ancient. Trees thick and old with twisted roots and canopies so dense that it blocked out the sun, were bound by network of vines that crept through the forest bed. Ever and anon, the stillness is broken by melodious strain of birds.

The environment smelt of assortment of flowers unknown and the wet smell of earth after shower that influenced the cool breeze with it's intoxicating fragrance. The path that led Visenya to the chime of river- a stream from God's Eye that joined the Blackwater Rush- deep inside the woods was steep and laid with lush green grass. She took off her boots and sunk her feet into the blades of grass- the earth was cool and damp under her feet. 

Visenya breathed lungful of the tranquility that permeated throughout the woods. She had not felt this much at peace since- since when she couldn't remember. All her life had been being on guard and masking her insecurities, watching out for any probable jeopardy that may threaten the position she had worked so hard to achieve. She could feel the poison drain from her veins by the ground.

She looked back once- the chaos of their camp was left far behind like it was another life, illusory. This- the overwhelming sensations of her senses, the soft kisses of flowers and caress of the trees were more real. Delicately, she let her cloak fall to the ground and walked free from its weight. Next to unburden was her hands; the iron gauntlets fell on the soft ground soundlessly. As she continued down her path, Visenya left trail of fabric and jewelry behind her.

Not much later, she spied the river- a living ribbon of turquoise flowing confidently amid the moss and green. With each turn, it made soft splashes- the sound of a child laughing and sang with the birds in the language of nature. As she proceeded to take the pin off her remaining robe, her hackles rose having detected the presence of someone in the vicinity. 

"If you wanted to speak in private, you only needed to ask, brother."

"And risk hearing 'no'?"

Behind the chest-high oleander shrub, Aegon Targaryen materialized. Fully dressed in leather and a humble smile that Visenya despised, he ambled towards her. "The last time I appealed for a private dialogue you fled before I could get a word in."

Visenya remembered. Aegon didn't miss how he older sister was still avoiding him so he had slipped into her chamber unannounced while she was disrobing. Visenya had thrown a fit and Aegon had to shamefully from his queen's chamber.

The memory dissolved and Aegon's face came into focus. A sudden dread seeped in her veins as she realized how alone they were- all around them was green, green and little glimpse of blue and amid it were two figure clad in black and white.

"What do you want, Visenya?" He asked when they were two foot apart.

"For you to suffer." The truth came from the bottom of her heart; a feeling of acute despondency that alienated her from her surrounding for which she blamed none other than her brother. "I could have had everything- Dragonstone, Westeros but you came along and told me we would do it together."

"And we will."

"Will you?" She mocked. "Then why do I feel I have been kicked out along the way? Maybe you haven't, maybe its not your fault. But every time I see you, or Rhaenys, or even the bloody squires, it feels like all of you are meant to be here. And there is no place for me."

Aegon looked at her like he was seeing her first time. There's always an odd paradox to Visenya- she would writhe in agony rather than let her pride dissolve and let anyone see the pain she was in. Aegon crossed the distance between them, clutching her hands and bringing them to his chest. "But you are not unwanted here Visenya. You are loved. I have said it before and I will say it again, you have my heart. I made a vow."

A sad, cruel laugh came from Visenya. "Why do you bother to keep up this farce? We aren't man and wife. Seven hells, we aren't even brother and sister. Not since father decided I should marry you. Now let me go."

"No."

"Don't be a child, brother. Let go of my hand."

Aegon however was unyielding as Valyrian steel. "Not till I make you see."

"You can't make me do anything-" 

Suddenly, the ground shook beneath their feet. For anyone it'd appear to be earthquake, like the gods had decided to bring hell to earth but they were dragonriders. They knew the song of the dragons, the flap of leathery wings. Soon enough, the trees swayed with the fanning of Vhagar flying overhead. By the bank of the stream it landed, overflowing the bank with its weight, waiting for its rider.

Aegon used her momentary distraction to secure her in his arms.

"I swear brother-" Her rant was interrupted by him forcefully sealing his lips over her. It took her some time to register what was happening and when she regained faculty, Aegon received a kick between his legs.

Satisfaction bloomed in her smile as he howled, crouching down. Despite being upset only a moment ago, it made her laugh. Aegon did too and suddenly he was diving at her and they fell down, tumbling down the slope of the bank. She landed on top him; it reminded her of the times they wrestled- Visenya used to beat him every-time. Up until their lady mother decided it was unbecoming of a woman.

Aegon was looking up to her with his wide, violet eyes. So close, he didn't look like the tormentor she thought of him; he looked uncomplicated, true. She didn't know what came over him but she leaned down to kiss her brother. When they broke apart- Aegon's eyes were dilated with lust. It maybe temporary and Rhaenys had seen them more than she ever did, but Visenya wanted to make this moment hers. For once she wanted to belong.

They tousled in the grass, pulling of every piece of clothing that separated their skin. Visenya, ruthless, cunning and formidable as she was, was oddly submissive in bed. She liked to be taken care of, to take off the crushing weight of fear and responsibility of her shoulder. It was when she was the most vulnerable and Aegon wanted to make the best of it.

They lay later, plastered to each other as the sun set over Vhagar's outline. It was quite, serene and fulfilling even though it was just for a while.

Beneath the white cotton spread of clouds, the Eyrie's cluster of seven column of white stone rose. Encircling it is the Godswood, the granaries and outer curtain of wall. The inner courtyard held a paradise like garden with few dots visible from the sky.

Like sunlight bursting from clouds, Vhagar dove downwards. Winds whistled in Visenya's ear as she clutched on to her horns. The great mossy dragon with its bronze scales and head landed in the inner courtyard of Eyrie with a tremendous force that quaked through the castle.

Giving a blood chilling cry, Vhagar lowered her head so Visenya could get off. The blow of its wing has sent all men tumbling into the floor and they hadn't recovered from shock yet. The Dragon Queen was pleased to see the chubby, youthful face of Ronnel Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

As she approached a few knights stepped in between the queen and the child. Vhagar snarled and the stepped back as quickly as they had appeared. She offered her hand to the young king who was paralyzed with awe and fear. He responded in time, gingerly taking her hand.

Visenya led her to Vhagar and the knights of the Vale trailed behind them compelled by their loyalty but what is fear of death to loyalty? Visenya climbed up first and pulled the boy in front of her.

"Legs to side." She instructed and urged her dragon to take off. The white marble ground of courtyard disappeared below as Vhagar flapped her wings and flew them to the clouds.

The child clutched to Visenya like a leech; his eyes were screwed shut and his body was trembling.

"Open your eyes, Lord Arryn. Look down. See how beautiful your land is. One day, you will be the lord of this land, maintain that beautiful castle of yours."

The boy was too frightened to speak and only whimpered.

"Isn't it glorious? To fly? Its like nothing can catch you anymore- like you will live forever."

With a circle about the summit of the Giant's Lance, Vhagar returned to the castle. There stood Lady Sharra, her face stony as the gargoyles of Dragonstone. Visenya helped Ronnel get down and walked him to her mother.

The two ladies looked each other in the eye, dueling in a language only women would understand. Then Lady Sharra sent for the three crowns- her own regent’s coronet, her son’s small crown, and the Falcon Crown of Mountain and Vale and surrendered them to Queen Visenya. Her garrison laid down their swords at her feet.

"Can I fly again, mother?"The new lord of Vale asked.

"Anytime, child." Visenya answered.


	24. Rhaenys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall thought I abandoned this fic? Never...next chapter here you go

The azure blue sky of the Dornish lands was bare of any clouds. The sun, looking like a yolk, scorned the vast desert with its scorching rays, condemned all living beings to wither away. It baked Rhaenys's exposed arms, provoking red dots to bloom on her porcelain skin.As the wind tousled her hair and whipped it about her sun-kissed face, the great beast between her thighs purred. Rhaenys felt its throat vibrate with tenor of its cry- Meraxes was tired.

The sun had been in her face when they crossed Prince's Pass, the gateway through the Red Mountains. A host of Dornish spearmen guarded the pass but Rhaenys did not engage them. Now the sun was above her head. Wherever her eyes went, it was trackless stretch of red and the white sands.

Sometime after midday the dragon queen descended upon Vaith to demand its submission. The castle was tall and pale, built in the hills east of the restless dunes of Dorne. 

She found the entry unbarred. From the huge archway hung House Vaith's coat of arms-  three black leopards standing on a yellow pile on orange. Her footsteps echoed on the floor, there was no sign of guards, everything was eerily quiet like the haunted towers of Valyria. The stillness of the castle sent shivers down her spine. The mirthful garden, where children played joyously only a moon ago, the halls, stables and servants quarters, all were empty- as though someone have wiped out their existence.

Eventually Rhaenys came upon the town under the walls. The narrow streets were barren, the stalls were shut as were all of the doors throughout the settlement. The only sound was the soft drip-drip of the water that leaked through the drains which carried water straight from the river Vaith. She gathered them in her palm and splashed the water in her face: they were the blood of the dragon, heat do not affect them the same way as they do common men but the desert sucking the life out of even dragons.

Her heart lurched as she saw a set of curious eyes peering behind the windows of the huts. A few more windows opened and as many heads appeared- all women, some children and few old men. Their eyes were colder than desert at night and unrelenting.

"Where are your Lords?" Rhaenys asked.

"Away." They answered.

Once again Rhaenys mounted her dragon. Meraxes spread out its leathern wings, its pale, ivory scales gleamed in the sunlight. It followed the river downstream to Godsgrace, seat of House Allyrion, but was too met with disappointment. 

On she flew. Down the desert where Greenblood met the sea. The floating city of the Planky Town, where hundreds of poleboats, fishing skiffs, barges, houseboats, and hulks sat baking in the sun, tethered to each other with ropes and chains and planks. Meraxes dropped her off a little away from the city. There too she found only a few old women and small children. They peered up at her as Meraxes circled overhead.

_Where are your men? Away._

Finally the queen's flight took her to the shore of the summer sea, to Sunspear, the ancient seat of House Martell established by the Princess Nymeria of Rhoynar, the great warrior and voyager, a queen by her own right and held the admirtion of Visenya.

She found the Princess of Dorne waiting in her abandoned castle shielded by no more than thirty men and women. The back of the throne molded in likeness of sun supported her large structure. She radiated domniance, determination and defiance.  "The Yellow Toad of Dorne," Argilac the Arrogant had named her.

Meria Martell seemed older than the land itself.At her age she should have one foot in the grave. She was very fat, blind, and almost bald, her skin sallow and sagging but her voice never faltered.

"I am glad to find you in good health Queen Merina."

"Princess Merina." The old woman corrected her in rough yet stern voice. "In Dorne, we take the title of Prince and Princess. A custom I understand you are unaccustomed to. Come closer dragon queen. I cannot see you but I can smell your presence. They talk of your beauty from Wall to the Water Gardens. Would that I weren't blind I could witness your beauty.

"But you are not here to entertain the whims of a old woman. Tell me, how may we show our hospitality."

"By not taking up the title Queen as you have always done. We offer your a house chance to seize glory with the greatest dynasty that will ever be. Join our cause and you will forever have a seat in the King's council. Join us and you will never have suffer in the hands of the Lords of Reach."

The Princess laughed. It was dry, shrill and soon turned into a fit of violent cough that was only stopped after a mouthful of wine.

"Look at our history child. Dorne has no short of glory. We had fought in Valyria, in Essos and in Westeros. You offer glory to half of your population. We offer glory to both men and women. In this land we are truly equal where your women cannot set foot out of the the towers they are locked in all life."

Rhaenys marveled at the zeal of the woman. Out of all who had resisted them, she was the most formidable despite never resorting to physical fight.

"I admire spirit I truly do. But you are the leader of your people. Would you watch them being slaughtered because you were too proud to bend the knee."

"My knee has worn off my dear but why'd anyone slaughter my people when we have wronged none?"

"It is not a matter of right or wrong. We have offered you peace, more than once and you still scorn us. Believe me we mean every word we say- anyone that stands in our way, we will vanquish them."

"I will not fight you," Princess Meria declared. "nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that."

"I shall," Rhaenys replied. "but we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood."

"Your words," said Princess Meria. "Ours are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. You may burn us, my lady but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril."

Frustrated, Rhaenys sighed heavily. "Very well. Hide and run away as you had run from Valyria. It is all you can do."

"We do. But we Rhoynar people have survived and lived to watch Valyria perish."


	25. Chapter 25

Founded long before the Andal invasion, Oldtown was the largest city in all of Westeros. It was primarily built of stone where the cobbled streets ran in labyrinth and trading ships from the known world- Essos, Summer Isles as well as rest of the Westeros  call upon Oldtown's port. Constructed around House Hightower's seat, the castle and the lighthouse, the city enticed traders from Eastwatch to Arbor. It was also the seat of the High Septon and the Citadel all enclosed in high stone wall. For that alone, Oldtown had to be approached with caution. The Faith of the Seven was the most prominent religion throughout Westeros save for the north where the Old Gods still held sway and the High Septon commanded the devotion of millions. Should they anger them, all of Westeros may rise up to rebel and an all out war with be inevitable. They will win but after payment with blood.

When they arrived at the gates of Oldtown however, they found the gates to be unbarred and beyond the threshold waited Manfred Hightower, his sword sheathed.

By his king's command, Orys rode forth to meet the hosts. None of the soldiers raised their spears but rather parted to allow him the way to their overlord. There was an eerie calmness in the air as if the war was already over. Wary and curious, Orys trotted to the center where Hightower stood amidst his vassals, septons and few maesters.

"I come bearing greetings and proposition from his grace, King Aegon Targaryen, protector and sovereign of unified Westeros." Orys declared after he had unhorsed. "I will acquaint you with the terms and conditions as well as the anarchy that your defiance will risk should you choose to resist."

"There will be no need." Lord Hightower spoke crisply without slightest hint at agitation. "We accept King Aegon's proposal."

Orys was startled to say the least. He had expected at least some degree of resistance. Was this some trick? They however maintained they were sincere in their wish to surrender and the Targaryen envoy had to ride back to deliver the message.

"Well...what does he want?" Aegon asked.

"The same you offered most lords- his lordship, land and title. In return he will give up autonomy and accept you as the King."

"And they did so without a fight?" Visenya scowled.

"Apparently the High Septon had prayed for seven days and seven night in the sept when the heard of our arrival. The Crone appeared in his vision with her golden lamp to show him the path ahead- that they must open the gate for your grace. It's all sham if I say. They surely know that if Oldtown took up arms against us, the city would surely burn."

"Cautious man." Aegon remarked. 

"He appears to be. As a token of his goodwill, he also offers the hand of his youngest daughter Sierra in marriage."

"Tell him I appreciate his gift but I have two loving and faithful wives and I wouldn't for the world dare to slight them."

"I will you grace."

Despite being a vassal of the Gardeners, House Hightower had been prudent in their decision not to oppose the Conqueror by force of arms. Manfred Hightower apart from being a pious man was realist- while the Gardeners and their liege men burned on the Field of Fire, they succeeded in saving their city from sure destruction. Now clothed in silk robes and dazzling smile, he was escorted the Dragonlord to the Starry Sept where Aegon will be formally crowned as the King of the Seven Kingdoms thought Dorne was yet to be conquered.

The Starry Sept was situated near the mouth of Honeywine. It was an ancient sept built of glistening black marble, built by Triston Hightower in honor of the septon during his father's time as well as his regent. For a thousand year it has been seat of the High Septon whose advises were sought by lords from wide and far. In the distance the massive beacon rose above the seat of Hightower. Some say the Wall can be seen from its top.

Orys stood with rest of the crowd there to witness the historic crowning. The Faith Militant stood vigil donning their seven pointed stars and rainbow sword. Candles burnt at the seven alters of the seven deity, the flickering lights brought life to the grim faces of the statues. The heavy scent of incense was making Orys dizzy. He muffled his cough on the back of his hand.

"Are you alright Orys?" Visenya's orotund voice resonated around him like a dream.

"Yes your grace. Just a little weary. I had to run some errands in the town and ended up spending hours with the archmaesters in the Citadel."

"They are curious men." Visenya agreed. "Much more interesting than these robed fools I vow. All their false piousness and ostentation makes me want to gag."

"Don't be a wet blanket, dear sister." Queen Rhaenys cut in. "You may find some of them very devout if you know what I am saying. Lord Hightower has a son who has taken his vows as septon. He is quite comely I dare say."

Both Visenya and Orys shared a look and returned their gaze to the kneeling septon, praying to the Crone.

There had been only a handful of lords present when Aegon was crowned atop Aegonfort but that day, hundred of lords as well as all of Citadel stood witness to the Dragonlord's enthronement. Thousands of men lining either side of the streets leading to the Sept sent up cheer akin to thunder when Aegon rode forth on the back of Balerion the Dead.

The dragon rider had donned his battle armor, red dragon spreading its wings proudly on his chest; the hilt of the sheathed Blackfyre flashed as he walked by. He halted by the alter and knelt before the High Septon who anointed Aegon with the seven oils and placed the crown- a ruby encrusted valyrian steel circlet, upon his head.

Thus Aegon the Dragon rose as "Aegon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N- Honestly I have no excuse for taking this long. I kinda fell out of love with this story but I have found inspiration again. I hope I can keep up the streak.

Visenya rose at the crack of dawn as it was the norm with her. They say the morning air does more healing than the hands of the most gifted maesters and she had found it to be true to some extent. Wrapping a cloak around herself, she ventured out in the misty hills. She left the Aegonfort behind, a more defined structure than the one she had seen before she left to war. It had stables now with the best breeds of horses and granaries full of fresh corn to feed the mouths that lived within the mud and thatch dwelling but it did not suit the Dragonlords of Valyria. They may conquer a thousand kingdoms but they cannot bring back the bygone beauty of a ruined empire.

Dew has fallen all over the grass that carpeted the hills. Visenya's foot was bare and the flimsy nightdress she wore underneath did nothing to shield her from the sharp wind. Winter is coming, the Starks say. It will be a long one if the maesters were to be heeded. The small folks have started gathering all that the war had spared- barely sufficient for half a decade. Men fight well when they are drunk on lust for power and dominion but hunger makes a vicious in a no way glory can. An entire kingdom can purge if the common folks have nothing to survive on for a hungry man is master to none but his body.

The heaviness swelling inside her made Visenya weary so she banished it from her mind. Instead she focused on the wind that came from the ocean carrying the fragrance of freshly cut grain and spices within the cargo of the returning ships. She stopped on her track and closed her eyes, letting the air lift her away far from here. She was no longer Queen Visenya, wife to Aegon the Conqueror but just another spirit, one with nature. She let her facade fall away- there was no one looking and exhaled, letting go of the tears she had tucked away. Her lips quivered and a broken sob escaped but she had never this light in a while.

Before the sun was above the treeline, Visenya was back in her chamber. She called for a bath before she went to break her fast. Not long she had dipped her foot in the scalding water, she received a summon from her brother. 

"Tell him I shall meet him as soon as I break my fast."

"But my queen, his grace says its urgent." The squire squeaked. 

"If it's so urgent he can come by himself." Visenya snapped. She hadn't meant to be so harsh. He was just a stand-in for the one she intended the rebuke for. Aegon had once again chosen to spend a night full of tender love-making with Rhaenys than spend one night he had promised Visenya. It wasn't that she missed her brother's cock, she had others to please her. But people talked. They talked of the severe, unforgiving queen so cruel that even her brother shunned her. 

Instead of delaying as much as she can just to irk Aegon, Visenya found herself rising from the bath. She needed to banish the grave concerns about her declining reputation; she'd deal with it later. She dressed herself in red and black silk. Unlike Rhaenys who had her handmaidens deck her with jewels and flowers as they traded gossips in great merriment, the elder Targaryen prepared alone. Rhaenys had quickly become the darling of the realm. Her amiable and easy-going nature though not always genuine but an act, had won her the affection of the common folks sooner than swords did. 

Since his ascent, Aegon had left both of his sister in charge of the realm. Visenya saw to order and administration while Rhaenys with her gentle nature, dealt with grievances of the small folks. She imbibed all Westerosi traditions and sponsored many festivities that projected her as one of their own. The harvest festival had severely depleted the coffers but Visenya had to agree- it was clever plan and the commoners ate it up eagerly.

Deeming her attire to be complete, Visenya appeared in the King's Court where Aegon held the his council meetings. The King's court was a court in name only. It was a wider room with higher ceiling, and a large oak table in front of a raised platform upon which was a peculiar structure- a throne made of swords of the fallen in battlefield. Aegon had them assimilated into a terrifying monstrosity, jagged and formless. Sharp tips of swords jutted out like fangs of dragons that prove fatal for slight clumsiness. A king should not sit easy, Aegon had said. There won't be many kings if all of them started to lose their limbs to this death trap. Iron Throne, they had started to call it. 

"It's hideous." Visenya said when she felt Aegon's presence next to her. "Whoever comes after us, I hope they tear it down."

"You are cruel sister." Aegon said with a small smile. Visenya didn't return it.

"I'v been told. Now what is the urgency that forbids me from breaking my fast?"

"A raven came early morning. There is no point softening the blow. We have lost Sunspear." Aegon announced gravely.

So stunned she was, Visenya could scarce speak. When she managed, it was a growl. "How?"

"They retook the castle."

"I inferred that. How did we lose the castle? Didn't you say it was deserted?"

"It was then. Our birds tell us they had been hiding in Shadow city- all who had retreated."

"How could this be? We had left an entire garrison behind. You put Rosby in charge. What happened to him."

"Captured and thrown off the castle."

Rosby was the castellan left in charge of Sunspear after they had subdued the unconquered Dorne. It wasn't a easy battle. It required both Aegon and Rhaenys (Visenya remained at King's Landing by Aegon's insistence) and their vicious dragons to bring Dorne to their knee. Victory came at a great cost.Blood was shed on both sides, many burnt and others died from heat and thirst in the desert. Upon arriving at Sunspear, they had found the lords and the Princess had fled. Declaring themselves victorious, they had returned putting Rosby in charge of the castle and Tyrell in charge of maintaining peace. The clever Dornishmen had taken advantage of their laxness. They had waited for the most opportune moment and  having found it, they had struck.

The swishing sound of cloth made Visenya looked up- Rhaenys was approaching, her face swollen and crimson. Visenya highly doubted the death of a common lord would affect her sister so. She looked at Aegon for explanation who for the first time looked down.

"The raven brought more news. Orys has been captured."


End file.
